DethRisk
by AbelValentine
Summary: Charles had always fantasized about Pickles...but what happens when their involvement threatens his management position? This story takes place in the midst of season 2. Charles/Pickles with a little Toki/Skwisgaar action!
1. Chapter 1

[Based around Pickles/Charles, but also a little Toki/Skwisgaar mixed in. Set amidst season two. I do NOT own Metalocalypse or any characters therein; they belong to Brendon Small and Tommy Blacha!!!!]

Chapter 1: Out of the Closet

It was true that Charles had listened to Snake 'n Barrels. Hell, he'd even been to a show of theirs back in the early 90's, and seen Pickles live…crazy hair and all. But he wouldn't go so far as to say he was a fan…of the band, anyway. He had been that night on a date: a very strange date that had ended in a huffy taxi ride home, far away from his drunken accompaniment.

At the time, he thought the music to be a bit dreadful, being so far from what he normally listened to. But he did remember being captivated for a different reason: the lead singer.

It wasn't just on stage that Pickles radiated an attractive charisma; and Charles had a vivid memory of when he had accidentally bumped into the singer while getting bottled water from a concession stand.

The venue was outside, in a large park near St. Louis. Despite the stormy gloom over Charles' mood because of his horny and embarrassing date, the weather had been beautiful, with a slight breeze.

Charles had paid the vendor and reached out to get his water. He felt his hand brush against another man's and looked sharply to his left. There, in all of his glory, stood Pickles: a kid barely over eighteen, his hair wild and green eyes kind.

"Oh hey, sorry der, mister," he gestured to the water, "Thought dat was mine, heh."

He put his hands in his back pockets and rocked on his heels, looking sheepish. How could the lead singer of such a successful band apologize about almost taking some random guy's water?

"It's…quite all right," Charles breathed, feeling slightly taken aback. Pickles' overwhelming Midwestern accent was endearing.

Pickles was handed a different water and he nodded to the older man. "You a fan?"

Charles chuckled to himself. _Of…the band? No. _"Um…" He decided to take the less rude route. "I'm here on a date, actually."

"Oooohh, a date," he winked at Ofdensen, missing the irritated undertone to Charles' statement, "Well, good luck wit dat."

He raised his water to Charles, as if to toast him, and patted him on the back in a friendly way. Then he was gone, surrounded by a swarm of groupies, friends and band mates.

It was a short memory, but a pleasant one nonetheless. After all, it had been Charles' idea for Nathan to recruit Pickles as a member; at the time he'd thought of lead guitar, but after seeing Pickles' work on the drums, he knew Nathan had to be sold.

That was a long time ago, back when the band was first starting out. Back when Ofdensen was paying slightly out of pocket to help skyrocket the band to stardom.

The mere thought of those penniless days made Charles shiver as he now sat in his comfortable, leather chair in his office at Mordhaus. It was many years ago that Pickles had joined Dethklok, and even more years since Charles had first met him. Pickles never mentioned having seen Ofdensen anywhere before, and Charles certainly wasn't going to bring up the bottled water incident.

He mainly wore suits nowadays anyway, and back then he had actually worn jeans to the show. How embarrassing.

Despite Ofdensen's reluctance to show favoritism within Dethklok, he had formed a closer friendship with the drummer; mostly because Pickles was the only one Ofdensen could stand to be around for long periods of time….and also because Pickles was still stunningly attractive to him.

But Pickles was also the only member interested in the business side of things, having dealt with many endeavors during his stint with Snake 'n Barrels. He most definitely didn't see Ofdensen as boring, like the other guys did. Occasionally Pickles would want to know Dethklok's budget (which, of course, was always very high), their profit margin or other such details that the others probably couldn't even comprehend.

However, on this particular day, Pickles approached Ofdensen's office with a different motive.

Charles knew when it was Pickles at his door. He was the only one who knocked. Nathan, Skwisgaar and Murderface would usually just burst in, a jumble of complaints and ideas, and Toki always wandered in aimlessly, sometimes looking for the game room, or for a glass of milk.

After the few soft knocks, Charles cleared his throat. "Come in, Pickles."

The red haired drummer always had that same sheepish, apologetic look on his face when he walked into this particular office: as if he were interrupting a meeting. It always reminded Ofdensen of the night he first laid eyes on the man: never awkward, but always considerate.

"Uh, hey Charlie," he murmured, always affectionately informal with his manager, shutting the door carefully behind him and plopping down into the comfortable seat in front of the desk.

"Good afternoon, Pickles."

Pickles smiled when he realized that Charles hadn't been doing any real work. He mostly feigned his apologies about interrupting anyway—he loved to interrupt the man and feel important while he got off of his phone call, or closed his date book, just for him.

Ofdensen shifted a bit, with Pickles just staring at him and smiling his crooked smile.

"What can I, uh…do for you?"

Pickles was still smirking. "Ya can go drink wit us."

Charles frowned. Quite prissily, he looked at his watch. Was it really 10:30 at night?

The manager sighed, knowing he had a promise to fulfill with Pickles. A promise he had made one night when he _knew_ Pickles had been wasted. He'd hoped he'd forgotten.

"I'm not sure that tonight is the right time," he began, but Pickles cut him off.

"Ah, c'mon, Charlie! Ya prahmised me! Remember?"

Charles knew that Pickles had won as soon as he'd look at him with those puppy dog, crystal green eyes. Damn him. If only the drummer knew how much Charles bended to his will.

But the manager tried hard to hold fast. "I have a meeting very early in the morning."

"So?" Pickles got up and walked around Charles' desk before lifting himself up to sit on it, facing the manager. He looked down at him and furrowed his brow. "We're worried about ya."

"We?" Ofdensen raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, ya know, the guys. Well…mostly me. Ya work too hard 'n I wantcha to go out with me 'n loosen up!" He leaned forward and grabbed Ofdensen's tie, something Charles hadn't been ready for. Pickles started to loosen it, his eyes watching the knot with concentration.

Instinctually, Charles knocked Pickles' hands away. He immediately regretted ending their physical contact, but figured it was just as well.

"Alright," he sighed, giving into the one man in the world who held his strings and could make him dance. "I'll go."

"YEAH!" Pickles jumped up with such excitement that it made Charles chuckle. "Dats what ahm tahkin' about! I'll tell de udder guys!" And with that, he was gone in a flash.

The night began at a local club to which they were accustomed: well, all except Charles. He remained in his business suit and felt very out of place. He tried to ignore the random, snide comments about his attire or demeanor from the band and looked down at the scotch placed in front of him by Pickles.

"Heys, maybe wes get Ofdensens laids tonights!" Skwisgaar mused, widening his eyes and glancing around at everyone as if he'd just figured out the truth to human existence.

Nathan laughed his short, grunty laugh and nodded. "Hey yeah, that'd be fucking awesome."

"You want usch to getcha laid, pal?" Murderface clapped Charles on the back a little too hard. The bassist had already downed two tequila shots.

Ofdensen waved his hand in a dismissive manner, afraid to even touch his drink with these guys around him.

"No, no thank you. I'm…quite fine."

Pickles scoffed, "Quite fine? I don't think so, man, I mean…when WAS the last time ya got laid?"

Everyone seemed to lean in, even Toki, who had been distracted by the tourists playing darts in the corner of the bar.

"I don't really find that a suitable topic for discussion, guys," Charles said flatly, looking a little annoyed. He didn't even want to think about how long it had really been.

"Ohh, now, comes on misters tightys pants, whats kinds of ladies do yous like, ah?" Skwisgaar prodded, "I cans helps you gets her!"

Toki frowned. "Uh, Skwisgaar, you know maybes not everyones wants da types o' ladies that you gets?"

"Uhh, whats de hells does dats mean?!"

"Yous knows what it means, you stupids…er-…goats-face!"

"Tokis, yous is SO annoyings lately!"

"Shuts up, I hates it when you talks about the stupids ladies likes you ams da…da best lady-getter in da worlds or somesing!"

The extra electricity between Toki and Skwisgaar was undeniable. They _had_ been at each other's throats more than usual lately. As mandated by himself, Ofdensen generally waited for bloodshed before he intervened with a fight between two band mates.

Skwisgaar relaxed, regaining his cool. "Pfft, Toki's just jealous 'cause he doesn'ts gets womens to fucks him."

And at that, Toki stood up abruptly and stormed away from the booth, settling into a seat at the bar.

"O..kee…" Pickles directed his attention back to Charles, "Dood, c'man, _one_ chick?"

This really didn't feel like the right time to tell the boys he was gay, so he just sighed and shook his head.

"I'm not in the mood."

Skwisgaar grunted in a disappointed way, already visibly frazzled by Toki's behavior and now even more upset that he couldn't help Ofdensen scam on some chicks. He eventually locked eyes with a big-chested brunette and slinked away. Pickles shook his head slowly, still in awe of the Swede's ability to talk _any_ girl into sleeping with him…even if it was in a public restroom at a grungy club.

After about an hour, Nathan joined Toki at the bar, liking the idea of sitting with a companion in silence. He felt better about that than forcing conversation with the others, and seeing this advantage, Murderface soon followed.

Pickles downed his fifth shot and threw his arm over Charles' shoulder.

"At least ya didn't wear yer tie tonight," he chuckled, his voice low.

Ofdensen was starting to feel his third drink. He wasn't a lightweight, but he hadn't forced down so much hard liquor in a long time.

"Mm-hmm," he murmured, "I can…loosen up."

"I know ya can, Charlie." Pickles rested his head on the manager's shoulder, closing his eyes to keep the room from spinning out of control.

Ofdensen knew that Pickles was completely oblivious about his feelings toward the drummer. Only once had Pickles drunkenly asked Charles if he thought he was pretty, only to pass out seconds later. But it was hard for Charles to think that Pickles didn't at least feel a tiny bit of affection for him. After all, he wasn't as hands-on with anyone else, as far as Charles knew, and Pickles was definitely cuddly with him.

Feeling buzzed and careless, Charles thought it best to call a Klokateer to pick them up. No one seemed to be in the right state of mind to drive, not even himself. After he hung up the phone, Pickles laughed, still on his shoulder, eyes still closed.

"Ya had to call a DD, huh? Too drunk ta drive, eh? Dat's hot."

Charles would take the comment in stride, but he couldn't help but smile to himself.

Once home, each member meandered back to their rooms to pass out, throw up, or angrily slam their door, as in Toki's case. But Pickles followed Ofdensen the entire way, even back to his tidy bedroom.

Charles decided not to protest and he shut the door after they had both stumbled in. He blinked hard, trying to gain his composure and make it to the bed in one piece. He laid his glasses gingerly on his desk as Pickles threw himself onto the bed. Charles began to undress as the drummer stared up at the ceiling.

"Ya know," he began in a soft and philosophical tone that one can only take on when inebriated, "I don't blame ya. For nat wantin' ta get wit a girl tonight. I hate dat, too…all the pressure from those guys."

Ofdensen crawled into bed in just his silk pajama pants and helped Pickles wiggle underneath the covers. He removed the drummer's shoes for him and then lay back.

"Mmm," was all he said at first. But then, deciding it was time for Pickles to know, and to possibly forget in the morning, he sighed heavily, still feeling warm and loose.

"Pickles, I…didn't just not want to get with a girl tonight. I…don't want to get with a girl any night. I'm gay."

There was momentary silence as Pickles' brain worked to process this new information. Charles felt himself sober up a bit at the fear of creeping out the other man and driving him away.

But Pickles just smiled. "Really? I guess…I just thought ya worked too hard ta have time, but…shit. I guess I shoulda known."

"Really?" Charles furrowed his brow and looked back at Pickles. God his skin looked incredible in the moonlight.

"Yeah, I mean…ya know, like dat one night I saw ya at my Snakes 'n Barrels concert. I think you were wit a guy, right?"

Ofdensen hardly gets caught off-guard, but his jaw dropped.

"Uh…yeah…I didn't know you remembered that."

Pickles smiled a warm, drunken grin. "A'course I did. You were cute."

Charles would chalk almost everything up to alcohol when Pickles was drunk. Anything went, verbally, as far as he was concerned. He shifted a bit in the bed, about ready to suggest that Pickles get some sleep, when the redhead carefully threw his arm over the older man's stomach. He laid his head on Ofdensen's shoulder, sighing contently.

"Dis is nice. Feels good," he muttered. His senses would probably tell him a lot would feel good right now.

"Yeah…" Charles was cautious. He had sobered up, but was probably still drunk enough to let Pickles talk him into anything. If the younger man decided to do so. _Which he wouldn't._

Just before his cynical thoughts overtook him, he felt light kisses on his bare shoulder, Pickles' hand tracing tiny circles on the manager's stomach.

_This can't be real_…

But Pickles _was_ drunk…and probably just very horny. Charles did happen to be the closest thing nearby with two legs; although, Pickles had never been much of a slut, even when he was wasted. Just overly-friendly, that's all.

Drunk, high, caught in the moment, secretly repressed—Charles didn't care about the answer to his question as to why Pickles was now shifting and straddling him. How could he? With this beautiful man, now sitting atop him and smiling down at him as if he wasn't inebriated at all.

" Tell me what ya like about me, Charlie," his voice was innocent enough, but slightly taunting, as he ran a finger down the older man's chest.

Charles' breath had caught in his throat and he struggled for a good thirty seconds before he was able to form words.

"Y-You're…beautiful, Pickles," he stammered and the other man chuckled. "Beautiful and talented and smart…very smart."

"…ya really think ahm smart?" Pickles cocked his head to the side, still smiling. He could feel Ofdensen getting hard underneath him. He didn't mind.

"Of course I do."

Pickles leaned down and lazily captured Ofdensen's lips in a sluggish, yet meaningful, kiss. He'd never been so complimented before—well, at least not from someone who wasn't a die-hard, screaming, brainless fan. Charles more than willingly kissed him back, his hands rising to rest on the drummer's surprisingly narrow hips.

Pickles closed his eyes. It just felt so good—being here, on Ofdensen's lap, feeling his strong hands on him, completely encapsulated by the moment. In a rush of adrenaline, Pickles reached down between them to slightly stroke the other man's hard flesh. Ofdensen nearly choked.

"Pickles-..!" He reached down at first to try and stop him, but Pickles took it as encouragement and squeezed. Still too buzzed to reject such physical sensations, Charles simply went limp and accepted what he thought to be a favor.

But Pickles didn't seem inexperienced at all. His own short, terse breaths and the way he bit his bottom lip indicated that he rather liked watching the manager squirm with pleasure underneath him. Normally, Charles prided himself in his restraint, allowing the sensations to build—but with Pickles, the one man he'd never dreamed would be touching his cock, it was much easier to cum. After a few short moments, Pickles' hand was covered in the warm liquid. He pumped Charles slowly, riding it out, until he felt the older man's entire body relax.

Wiping his hand idly on the comforter, he plopped down beside him, watching his face. Charles' eyes were still closed, his breathing still staggered.

"Heh, glad ya liked it."

Charles regained his composure slightly and rolled his head to look at Pickles lying beside him. He smiled softly, in a reverie, unable to think about anything but his growing lust for the younger man. Normally, he was much better at determining what was and wasn't appropriate for co-workers to do together. But Pickles so often blurred those lines for him and he didn't wish to think about it tonight.

Charles more than wanted to return the favor to Pickles. He smiled as he pushed the drummer back, hovering over him as he locked their lips once more in a needy and passionate kiss. Pickles' was throbbing and happy for the chance at release.

He wasted no time, stroking Pickles, causing the drummer to buck up at his hand unwillingly in a pleading manner. Charles gladly took the plea and began to trail his kisses south, at no protest from the redhead. At any other time, he wouldn't have pushed his luck, going this far; but tonight was different. It was like a dream.

He slowly removed Pickles' jeans, followed by his underwear. He took the hard flesh in his hand, giving it a nice lick and watching Pickles' reaction. He got the one he wanted—the drummer threw his head back in ecstasy, a small "yesss…." escaping his lips. But then he lifted his head and looked down at Ofdensen with expectation and need. He liked to watch.

Charles sure as hell didn't mind putting on a show, having quite a talent in this area. He played to Pickles' tender spots, using his hand when necessary for extra stimulation. After about a solid 10 minutes of working on Pickles' cock, the drummer reached down to tap Ofdensen's shoulder hurriedly.

"Ch-Charlie…a-ahm gonna…a-ahh…"

His voice changed into the breathy uttering that began his climax. Charles didn't pull away, coaxing a mind-blowing orgasm out of him. Pickles gasped and moaned and in a few, quick spurts, he came into Charles' mouth. The manager swallowed it all politely, so as to not make a mess.

Pickles' body went limp as he laid back, recovering, his body shaking slightly.

"Ahh, fuck, fuck me, Jesus Chris, that was…w-wow…"

Charles smiled, feeling quite pleased with himself. He took the opportunity that Pickles' open stance provided and cuddled up on the redhead's chest. He sighed, closing his eyes, surprised at how heavily they drooped. Wow. He really was drunk.

"So yer outta the closet now, Charlie…"

Pickles's slight laughter was followed quickly by quiet snoring.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2- Special

Charles woke with ringing ears and a mild headache—not too bad for not having been _that_ drunk in years. He felt Pickles shift beside him, groaning and turning over, still dead asleep. Despite his fuzziness, no memory from last night was fleeting; he could still see it all just as clearly as it had happened. And fear clutched at his chest.

As soon as the drummer would wake up and see Charles in all his shame, last night would come rushing back to him in what would be a probably horrific flash. What if their relationship became strained and work became nearly impossible? What if Pickles decided to suddenly change direction and have him fired for their drunken jaunt? It wasn't worth risking his job…was it?

He glanced back at the sleeping redhead, brow furrowed, questions and worries circling in his already overwhelmed mind.

_No_, he thought sourly, _he'll want to forget all about this. So I should, as well._

And so, grabbing his silk, ruby robe, he disappeared from the room, relishing in the remembrance of the best night of his life. This would never happen again. He promised himself that it wouldn't.

At breakfast, everyone was present, excluding Pickles, who was still sleeping it off in Ofdensen's bed. Everything seemed pretty normal: Nathan was hidden behind the morning paper, though Charles doubted he was actually reading it more than he was just searching for any violent pictures. Murderface was digging into his second helping of pancakes, barely awake. Skwisgaar was bent over his guitar, his fingers flying over the frets in quiet concentration. Toki was poking the colored cereal in his bowl, wide awake as usual, looking particularly sullen.

"Good morning, everyone," Charles tried, his voice soft, but formal as ever.

The only noise he received was a grunt from Nathan, followed by a "Pfft.." from Skwisgaar.

"Comes on, don'ts yous…ever gets a hangs-over, ah?"

"Not normally, no," the manager replied, sighing. He poured himself some coffee. "If..any of you need anything, I'll be in my office." And with that he hurried off.

After taking a quick shower, dressing and combing his hair, Charles holed up at his luxurious, oversized desk. For hours he made numerous phone calls that had been put off because of last night's excursion and was currently in the middle of booking a gig in L.A. He had heard the not-so-spirited band practice that had taken place in Mordhaus' studio and was surprised when, not too long after the abrupt halting of noise, he heard a familiar, timid knock at his door.

He wanted to stay silent, to pretend that he had gone out, or that maybe he had fallen asleep. But his nervous curiosity at how Pickles would behave this afternoon got the best of him and he called the drummer in.

Pickles walked in slowly, shutting the door behind him.

"Heh, hey Charlie."

Charles was a bit taken aback by Pickles' meek voice. He'd expected anger, frustration, or confusion at the very least. Pickles just looked up at him, a worried expression on his face, his eyes searching.

"Good afternoon, Pickles," Charles tried to stay as normal as possible. He began to shuffle around some papers on his desk that he'd apparently neglected to file. That wasn't like him.

Pickles looked cautious and as if he was already about to leave. But he sat down slowly in the chair across from his manager, still watching him.

"We, uh…gat pretty drunk last night, huh?"

"Yes, we did," Charles offered, still wary about his own uncomfortable tone.

"Yeah…" Pickles cracked a small smile, "That was…somethin' else."

Was that it? Surely if Pickles wasn't upset now, he would be later; he would stew over it, afraid that the other guys would find out and tease him. Or worse…

After a lengthy silence, Pickles' smile dropped and Ofdensen cleared his throat.

"Is there..something that I can do for you, Pickles?"

"Nah, I think ya did enough last night." Pickles chuckled a bit, but when he saw that the older man still wore a stoney expression, his own became a bit angry. "Or…maybe you didn't?"

He got up and made his way around Ofdensen's desk, deciding to test him. He remembered nearly everything, especially the fact that Charlie had confessed to being gay…and thinking Pickles was beautiful.

Without warning, he straddled the manager in his leather chair, smiling down at him almost devilishly.

"Maybe…you want more?" His tone was playful enough, but Ofdensen pushed him off, standing up.

"Pickles, I…" he began, feeling slightly flustered and, even more, guilty. "I have a lot of work to do."

Pickles flinched, standing up straight. He could barely hide his hurt expression.

"Okee….sorry ta bother ya."

Before Charles could say another word, Pickles had left in an embarrassed and irritated flurry. The manager removed his glasses and clasped his hands over his face, rubbing slightly. He felt sick inside. But pushing Pickles away was the only way to keep his job secure. Should he let this continue, he'd run the risk of Pickles abruptly changing his mind and hurting him, or worse…firing him.

He'd always known Pickles to be straight. He couldn't jeopardize everything he'd worked so hard to achieve just to be some rock star's man crush. Even if it _was_ all the little businessman had ever dreamed of…

The day went along quickly, with more work for Charles to bury himself under. But as evening rolled around, things weren't going as smoothly in the massive "living room" of Mordhaus.

Toki had brought home a girl. A woman. A quite attractive one, at that.

Toki stood in the middle of the room, introducing her around, when Skwisgaar entered—casually at first, but he soon tensed up when he realized what was going on.

Nathan and Murderface sat on the couch, the exact same, amused look on their faces, arms crossed. Toki had _never_ brought a girl back to Mordhaus. As far as they knew, he didn't really date at all.

The woman—who was probably in her early 30's—was holding onto Toki, stroking his cheek and looking at him with adoration and what seemed like extreme attraction. And although Toki should have been beaming at this attention, he seemed rather flushed and nervous, like he was waiting for something important to happen…or someone important to show up.

When introduced, Pickles waved half-heartedly to the broad and turned back to the T.V. Nathan was getting a little irritated at Pickles' obviously sour mood. He'd wanted to get some writing done tonight, but the drummer had blown him off and claimed he was too tired and hung over.

When Toki saw Skwisgaar, he immediately lit up.

"Skwisgaar! Dis is Miranda. She's my dates!" He seemed a bit too proud of the fact.

Skwisgaar's face grew a bit dark and he frowned deeply. He could see in Miranda's experienced eyes that she very much intended to sleep with Toki tonight. Could this little Norwegian have the same goal?

"Hi there, honey," Miranda cooed, batting her eyelashes and whispering something in Toki's ear that made him giggle.

"Tokis, whats de hell? Yous screws sluts now? Pfft, I guess ders…a _firsts_ times for every'ting, ah?" He grinned his signature, smug grin and tried to sound casual, knowing that the other guys were watching their interaction closely. He supposed they expected a fight, with the way they'd been treating each other lately.

Toki immediately fumed. It wasn't hard for Skwisgaar to rile him up.

"Don'ts calls her dat!"

Miranda simply laughed and leaned very close to Toki's face, talking softly.

"Why don't you show me your room, Toki? Forget about him."

Toki nodded. "Yeah, sures, I'll forgets ALL abouts him!"

Skwisgaar forced his anger to the pit of his stomach, clenching his fists, willing an expressionless look onto his face. But the fire in his eyes was clear as Toki slipped his arm around the older woman's waist and whisked her off down the hallway to his bedroom.

Skwisgaar knew that if he stayed, his jealousy would be as obvious as a blow horn, and so he returned, in seemingly casual strides, back to his room.

He turned in early that night, which was very unusual for him; it was even more out of the ordinary that he was alone. But he lay beneath his fur comforter, a sour feeling in his stomach. All he could think about was Miranda's hands on Toki…caressing him…stroking him…giving the little Norwegian the experience that Skwisgaar felt was rightly his to give.

It was almost too much for him. He balled the fur in his fists, imagining that he could hear sounds of ecstasy escaping Toki's room down the hall…what the hell was the matter with him? He shouldn't care about who the rhythm guitarist fucks, or whether he fucks anyone at all. Skwisgaar was a bit above using the word "hypocritical" to describe his own behavior, but he knew that he had no room to talk.

There had been several occasions where Toki had pleaded with him not to go out: to stay, with him, instead of cruising for tail at a party, or local bar. Skwisgaar had laughed, accusing Toki lightheartedly of being "mores of a fags than I's thought". More than a couple times, the Swede's dismissal of Toki's requests had sprung hot tears to the younger man's eyes. Skwisgaar had never understood why he got so upset—was his company really that exciting?

But he understood now…more than ever, as he imagined Toki slowly and passionately making love to _that_ woman. He couldn't imagine having been Toki all those times, sitting alone in his room, working on his model planes while he knew that Skwisgaar was entertaining not one, but two or three ladies at the same time. He understood why Toki constantly gave him the cold shoulder the morning after. He understood the obvious pain in Toki's eyes when Skwisgaar announced that he was the best "lady-getter" in the world.

Burying his face in his fluffy pillow, he closed his eyes. _Sleep, sleep…come on, sleep!!_

But he couldn't even drift. And just before he was about to give up and practice guitar, his door creaked open. He heard soft footsteps and looked up.

Outlined in the moonlight from his tall windows, he saw Toki—wearing his cuddly blue pajamas with pinstripes on them, his gorgeous hair falling on his chest—standing beside his bed. He held Deddy Bear, curling the stuffed animal's devil tail between his fingers.

"Uh, Skwisgaar, cans I…sleeps in here wit yous?"

Skwisgaar couldn't keep his eyes from going wide, or his jaw from dropping. He didn't even question Toki as he shifted to his side to allow more room for the other man in the bed. He was too surprised to protest. But not too surprised to accuse.

"Wheres is your ladys friend, ah?" he spat, unable to mask his resentment.

Toki settled in beside him, turning away from Skwisgaar. He flipped the bear's tail in between his fingers still, seemingly very nervous.

"Oh, ah…she lefts," he stammered, not sounding too displeased with that fact, "She didn'ts…really wants to hang out, she justs…you knows…wanteds to be havings da sex."

Skwisgaar couldn't help but smile. This whole time he hadn't even thought of the fact that Toki might have had different motives. He took the younger man's innocence for granted sometimes.

"Wells, Toki, whats did yous expects? She's was a hots lady and yous is…you know, a goods looking guy."

He shifted uncomfortably. Now that his jealousy was put to rest, he didn't know how to handle himself. But as he watched Toki's back carefully, his silky hair falling to the mattress, he had a sudden urge to claim Toki even more: to make sure that Toki was _his_ again.

"Yous…yous really thinks I's good lookings?" He turned his head slightly to look at Skwisgaar, who shrugged.

"Ja, ofs course."

Before Skwisgaar could think another thought, Toki had jumped up. He quickly straddled Skwisgaar and grabbed the Swede's strong wrists, holding them above his head with great effort. He glared down at the older man, a fire in his eyes, a mix of anger, lust and confusion on his face. His chestnut hair fell around their faces.

"Dens why ams I nots as good as da ladies for yous?!"

They had wrestled before and Toki had always won; despite Skwisgaar's height, he was rather skinny and Toki definitely won in the muscle department. Skwisgaar widened his eyes, already shocked about their sudden position, but even more alarmed by those words. Was Toki…really asking what Skwisgaar thought he was?

For once, the Swede was speechless. Toki seized the opportunity of a silent Skwisgaar to lean forward and kiss him hard on the lips. The blonde struggled against him at first, but as Toki kissed him more passionately, needy, he found himself kissing back.

It was almost too much for him at the moment: Toki, a much younger and relatively smaller man holding him down successfully, the smell of Toki's recently cleaned and flowery-scented hair around him, the Norwegian's inexperienced, yet ready lips upon his….he felt ready to explode.

Finally, Toki mercifully ended their kiss, pulling away quickly. He still sat atop Skwisgaar, but he let go of his wrists and looked down at him. Skwisgaar felt his wrists gingerly with each hand.

"Whats de hells, Toki, do yous…works out or somesing?"

Toki frowned. "Answers my question!" He was more pushy than usual.

"Toki," Skwisgaar began, but his brain felt jumbled and fuzzy, "I's-…" He shook his head.

"What, Skwisgaar?" Toki's voice became softer as he recognized the Swede's internal struggle, glad that it wasn't just a flat out "Because." like he'd expected.

'I's is damaged goods, Toki," he began again, his voice slightly shaky. Toki had never heard him this way before. "I's is just likes my moms…I's can'ts be changings now."

Skwisgaar _had_ been with a guy before. With the way he slept around it just happened sometimes. Toki being male didn't freak him out at all—in fact, with Toki's hair, emotional outbursts, soft skin and pretty eyes, it made it easier for him to be attracted as he would be to a woman.

The blonde's real problem was what Toki represented for him. After all these years, he'd known Toki had a crush on him and that he didn't like Skwisgaar sleeping around with other people. But what could he do? Be monogamous with _Toki_? This lifestyle was ingrained in him…thanks to his mother. The whore. Skwisgaar's stomach turned at the mere thought of her.

"You knows…" Toki whispered, "it doesn'ts haves to be likes dat."

Daringly, he leaned down and began kissing Skwisgaar's neck softly, his lips timid, but certain. He knew little about what he was doing, but he'd seen movies and had a pretty good idea.

Skwisgaar didn't and couldn't push Toki away. It just felt so _good_. Toki felt so comfortable, so right. He placed his long-fingered hands on the Norwegian's thighs softly, closing his eyes. This was great security after the worry he'd endured earlier for Toki's experience with that woman. He almost laughed at how possessive he felt of the younger man.

'Toki…" His name escaped Skwisgaar's lips unintentionally, but it encouraged Toki and made him smile against the blonde's ear just before flicking his tongue out to lick it.

Skwisgaar couldn't allow this to go further…and yet he couldn't ignore the liquid fire coursing through his veins, the rapid beating in his chest…it had been so long since he had felt so alive during intimacy, so vulnerable.

Toki felt quite vindicated, having Skwisgaar partly paralyzed in expectation below him, groping the Norwegian's impressive body.

"Skwisgaar…" he whispered into his ear, "you cans makes love to mes, too. I coulds be your sluts for tonight…"

At that, Skwisgaar's eyes snapped open. No. Toki _wasn't_ just another slut. That was the whole point. He looked at the younger man darkly, his long and pale face illuminated by the sliver of moonlight winding in through heavy curtains hanging over his dungeon-like windows.

He cursed in Swedish and gripped Toki's hips more roughly; he didn't let go, however.

"Toki, I can'ts dos this. You aren'ts a sluts, yous-…yous is different…special."

He mentally slapped himself for sounding like such a fucking dope.

But Toki smiled wide. "…special?"

Skwisgaar hadn't exactly evoked the response he had wanted, and just as he sat up to pull Toki off of him, Toki wrapped his arms around him, forcing a passionate kiss.

Could he give in with a clean conscience? Not that Skwisgaar had ever paralleled morality and sex…ever. Toki was just so open, so ready to let Skwisgaar take him…he couldn't deny that it had been something he'd always wanted. But Toki's child-like qualities and obvious jealousy had kept him away, reminding Skwisgaar that he couldn't just be a one night stand. Not to mention it would fuck up the band…and he couldn't have Toki quitting.

But night after night…month after month…year after year…Skwisgaar lie in bed at night, alone or not, thinking about what the little Norwegian was doing: who he was with, what was going on in his head…who he was thinking about, in turn. His favorite hobby was belittling the younger man in front of the other guys; but he knew that Toki always forgave him behind the scenes, and when alone, they truly connected: speaking their own, closely related languages, talking about guitar, teasing each other about how horribly they each spoke various English words or phrases. Toki was his favorite band mate to be around, when he wasn't screaming at Skwisgaar for being a slut, or blowing him off.

In truth, Skwisgaar didn't think he could live without his rhythm guitarist, his counterpart.

So why was it so hard to accept his offer now, when all he'd ever wanted was to own Toki, completely, inside and out?

"…Skwis?..." Toki was staring at him, frowning, waiting for some sort of response.

Skwisgaar took in a deep breath. He opened his eyes and took in the sight before him: Toki, still straddling him, looking quite disheveled and defenseless.

"Yes, Toki. Special."

He gently pulled Toki off of him and laid him down, crawling on top, taking over: he was ready.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Why the _hell_ was Ofdensen ignoring him? Just fucking buried under paperwork, not even bothering to show up at the dining room table, as he usually did, for a quick band meeting. It was obvious yesterday that he hadn't really wanted to talk about last night. It was as if it hadn't even happened…

But he had told Pickles that he was gay…and that he found the drummer extremely attractive and smart. It didn't add up. Had he done something wrong? It was true that Pickles didn't remember a lot of nights the morning after; he'd said his fair share of horrible things to friends or lovers whilst inebriated, or high. But he remembered that night _very_ clearly. And to him, it had all been fine. Better than fine, it had been intoxicating.

_I'm not even gay…why do I care so much?_

Still, the manager's neglect ate away at him. And he hadn't seen the Charles at all this morning, either. His office door had been shut—and locked even—and he hadn't shown his face. Pickles could feel Nathan getting more and more annoyed with his grumpy attitude. Nathan had approached him again about songwriting and he had blown him off, retreating to his room to shop online.

As much as Pickles hated it, he spent money when he was angry. Not really in the hopes that owning moew random shit would make him feel happier, but just because he felt slightly and devilishly justified spending the money that fans had thrown away on him. Money that he didn't feel he often deserved, despite the other guys' feelings on the subject. Skwisgaar, especially, seemed to think people should throw money at his feet as he walked.

So after a few dozen purchases on a few random websites, (and a few drinks), he stormed out of his room in a decided manner. If Charles didn't want to talk, fine. Maybe Pickles would just have to talk with his fists.


	3. Chapter 3

Pickles' mind was set. He was ready. He would march right up to Charles, grab him by the collar of his Oscar de la Renta suit and let him have it. Why was he avoiding him? Did he lie? Had he used him? Who the fuck did he think he was, getting away with something like that?

Flustered and fuming, the drummer hurriedly stormed down the main hallway towards Ofdensen's office—but stopped when he heard voices coming from the dining hall. He gritted his teeth and began planning another route in his head…until he heard Charles' somber voice. Pickles stayed back, hidden by the corner where the hallway and dining room walls met. He pressed himself back against the stone, his senses alert.

"What do you mean? I haven't noticed much of a difference."

Nathan grunted. "Yeah, well…he's been ignoring me all day, avoiding all of us."

"Perhaps he's just tired." Ofdensen had an irritating way of sounding nonchalant and Pickles dug his nails into his palms as he clenched his fists.

"Hm," Nathan murmured, unimpressed, "Well he needs to fucking snap out of it. We've got writing to do."

Pickles hadn't known that Murderface was present until he spoke up in his usual, harsh, yet somehow casual tone.

"Yeah! We have writing to do. That lazchy fucker."

He chuckled and Pickles didn't understand why.

"You know…" William continued, "Maybe he'sch jealousch about the time Schkwischgaar and Toki have been schpending together….hmm?"

Pickles' jaw dropped. What?! Could Murderface _be_ further off from the truth? Fucking moron. He imagined William had nudged Nathan, because Nathan grunted in a questioning way.

But it was Charles who spoke up first. "…_what_?"

Murderface laughed wholeheartedly. "Yeah! I mean…I've alwaysch thought, ya know, Picklesch had a thing for Schwischgaar. OH thisch ONE time-"

Pickles' stomach clenched. He knew what was coming…

"-I caught the two of 'em MAKING OUT! Ha! I'm scherious, totally scherious! It was..."

_After a show_, Pickles thought, finishing the story for him mentally as Murderface did so aloud, _in their dressing room. Ah, Jesus…we were so high! It was years ago, that didn't count!_

There was a solid minute of silence.

"I see…" Charles whispered. There certainly was skepticism in his voice, but also something else... "Well, I had…no idea."

There was a smile in Murderface's voice. "Yep."

"Wow. Gay," Nathan muttered. It was all Pickles could've expected from the singer. He was usually pretty defensive about the subject of sexual orientation—and sexuality altogether.

"Anywaysch," Murderface continued, probably just glad to have the spotlight, "I'm schure that Picklesch is schulking becausche Schkwischgaar ischn't schexing him up, like he usched to."

Pickles could practically hear Ofdensen frown.

"Well, that's…really none of my business. Anyway, I'll book you all for that gig next month. Please tell the others."

Pickles heard tight, quick footsteps as the manager walked away, heading to his office.

His head swam. Had Ofdensen really sounded jealous about Murderface's horribly wrong accusations about his feelings for Skwisgaar? Sure, he and the Swede _had_ messed around a couple of times…but it never went very far and usually ended in puke-fests, as they would always be very drunk. Or high. And they had certainly never had sex; though Skwisgaar had pressed for it a few times.

_But drunkenly screwing around and having feelings for someone were totally different!_

Pickles' breath caught in his chest. Drunkenly screwing around…is that what it had been? That night with Ofdensen…maybe it didn't mean anything to the manager and he was trying to avoid the issue. Maybe telling Pickles he was beautiful and smart was just his suave way of getting the drummer into bed.

Maybe Charles hadn't expected there to be any feelings behind their actions, no moral repercussions. They _had_ been drunk after all.

_But why am I the one stuck with these goddamned feelings? HE'S the gay one!_

A sinking feeling filled his chest and he furrowed his brow, looking down at his hands. Everything was so backwards…Skwisgaar was spending all his time with Toki? Murderface thought Pickles was angry about it? Charles had just wanted to fool around, no strings attached…and Pickles _cared_?

Pickles couldn't remember the last time he'd cried. It had possibly been a time when he was so shitfaced that he couldn't recall it. He never remembered crying when he was little; that was usually Seth's job, to get what he wanted by crying and pouting. In fact, Pickles always snickered quietly when someone else was crying, often thinking them to be melodramatic.

But as hot tears sprung to his eyes, he was glad no one was around to see. He couldn't handle being laughed at right now. He felt so confused, angry and above all…used.

_Toki_…he thought. Above anyone, Toki would be the most understanding about him and Charles' night together, and he had to tell someone. He was going to explode. And maybe he could get some answers about he and Skwisgaar…

Pickles turned on his heel and walked quickly, going straight for Toki's room, which happened to be down the same hallway as Skwisgaar's. The Swede's door was shut. That wasn't a surprise—but as Pickles looked down the hallway, he saw Toki's door open.

He crept up on the door slowly and peeked in: nothing. Toki's bed was made neatly, his model plane station untouched for the day, it seemed. Even Deddy Bear was missing, and Toki was rarely without that stupid stuffed animal.

Pickles' brow wrinkled in curiosity as he slowly stepped into Toki's room. He wasn't sure if he was welcome or not, but hey, the door _had_ been wide open.

He'd always been a bit curious about Toki's room. The rhythm guitarist had such childish—and in Pickles' opinion, nerdy—interests. In the corner of the room was a tiny twin bed with blue, cotton sheets and a dark blue comforter. There were way too many pillows at the head for such a tiny bed, all arranged in size from big to small.

There were posters of various bands and movies on the unpainted walls. It seemed like something a teenage girl would do: fill her walls with posters. To the very right of the entrance was Toki's "workstation" where he built his model planes. Pickles couldn't imagine the Norwegian having enough concentration for such an activity; yet every now and then, Toki would erupt from his room, smiling wide whilst showing off his newest assembly. And they were always very well-built, for all Pickles could tell.

On a small desk in the opposite corner of the bed was a laptop. It was on standby and Pickles touched a key, figuring he would leave no stone unturned. The Facebones screensaver dissipated to display a Microsoft word document. The cursor was still blinking where Toki had failed to finish a sentence in what looked like a diary entry.

But Pickles frowned when he realized that the whole thing had been written in Norwegian. Of course; Toki could barely speak English correctly without having to think hard about it. It only made sense that he'd write in his native tongue.

Just as Pickles leaned down to snoop around on the younger man's computer, he heard a soft noise behind him.

"Pickle?"

Pickles jumped up, red-handed, his eyes wide.

"Toki! Er-…heh, sarry, I jes'…ya know, got curious."

Toki smiled, his eyes kind. He shrugged. "S'ok. I's nots mad."

Toki was still in his pajamas, his hair disheveled. He moved to sit down on his bed and looked up at the drummer sleepily.

"Yous…cames into mys room to…sees me, or…?" It was strange how Toki always seemed to look hopeful. Someone looking for _him_? He seemed to buff up a bit at the idea, a small smile on his soft face.

Pickles nodded, glad that Toki wasn't going to throw him out, or hit him, like the other guys might if they caught him snooping around in their rooms.

"Uh, yeah, actually…" Pickles sat down beside Toki, but kept a safe distance. He didn't need Murderface walking by and starting any _more _rumors about him. Remembering this, he got up and shut the door, just in case. Toki furrowed his brow.

"Uh, Pickle, yous ok? You don'ts looks so goods."

Pickles suddenly felt ridiculous. What the hell was he going to say? 'Guess what, I slept with the manager!' That didn't even cover the half of it. Why did he suddenly have the urge to oversimplify everything?

"Er-…" Pickles stammered, "Can I…talk to ya, Toki? About..somethin' personal?"

He cautiously sat back down beside Toki, sheepishly tucking his hands underneath his thighs and refusing to make eye contact with the younger man.

"Ja!" Toki nodded fervently, feeling a rush at being the one Pickles chose to confide in. It was more than flattering to him.

Pickles almost laughed at Toki's eagerness. Then he cleared his throat.

"It's…actually about Ahfdensen."

"Oh, da managers? Whats abouts him?"

His intent staring at Pickles didn't help with the drummer's nervousness. Toki's eyes were just so _piercing_, no matter how candid they appeared to be. It was the offsetting pale blue color of them that made Pickles shift uncomfortably on the bed.

"Er…well…" Pickles wracked his brain, attempting at delicacy, "ya remember the other night when we gat all wasted at the bar? And Char-…the manager came wit' us?"

Toki nodded readily, not speaking. How the hell was he supposed to come out with it, with the Norwegian looking so enthusiastically at him?

"Well…that night…heh…me 'n Charlie kinda…fooled around. In his room."

It took Toki a minute to associate the name 'Charlie' with 'da managers'. But once he did, his ice-colored eyes got even wider. He dropped Deddy Bear on the bed and covered his mouth with both hands. It would've been comical had the redhead not felt so sick about opening up like this. Pickles had expected Toki's reaction; what he hadn't expected was his smile.

"Really?! Yous mean…yous guys are…?" He trailed off, still smiling goofily.

Pickles frowned, re-experiencing the rage he had felt not minutes ago.

"Nat really."

Pickles recounted the evening, in lesser detail than his brain remembered it, and explained the distance that Charles had put between the two over the past few days. Toki could see Pickles getting more visibly upset word after word. After he finished the story, Pickles braved a look at Toki, appearing more ashamed than sad.

Toki's expression, however, was reassuring.

"Pickle…I didn'ts know. You seems to….likes him, ja?"

Pickles nodded.

"I cans tell…" He furrowed his brow in cute concentration, looking at the floor, as if trying to figure out a hard math equation. "Well you gots to tells him!"

He looked up at Pickles with fiery resolve and nodded once.

"He can'ts just…screws wit' your heads like dat. Is not fairs! Mens can'ts just be...doings who they wants and not carings!"

It was obvious where Toki had figured this out…and who with. Pickles' suspicions that were arisen by Murderface's comments were confirmed. Glad that Toki was giving him the advice he wanted, (since he _had_ still planned on confronting Charlie), the drummer felt slightly better about asking Toki about Skwisgaar.

"Yeah…dey can't jes' do that, yer right. Like…Skwisgaar, eh?"

Toki's eyes went wide. Yes, last night had been amazing: everything he'd ever dreamed of. But as he snuck out of the Swede's room this morning, Skwisgaar _had_ made a point to threaten Toki into not mentioning their pleasure trip to anyone else. Especially other band members.

"Uh…" Toki hesitated, "Whats…do you mean?"

Pickles gave Toki a meaningful look before standing up. He wasn't going to press anything from the guy, knowing that Skwisgaar probably wanted it hush-hush.

"Well," he resolved, patting the younger man on the shoulder, "If…ya ever need ta talk…"

Toki smiled at that. He would keep that in mind. He nodded.

"Thanks you, Pickle. Wes sure ares good friends, huh?"

Pickles chuckled. "Yeah, kid. Ah guess so."

And with that, he left Toki alone to shower, or do whatever he did in the morning after a night of hot sex. Pickles sighed heavily as he walked down the hall, his hands in his pockets.

_Damn_, he thought. _I need to get angrier if I'm ever gonna yell at Charlie. _

And so he resorted to a small drinking festival in his room, downing nearly half a bottle of straight vodka. _Now_ he remembered why he was pissed. _Now_ he once again had the balls to call the older man out and demand a response from him.

Charles had been walking briskly down the hallway to his office, a bulky file in his hands. He was staring intently ahead of him, ever serious, but in an unusually distracted way. He paused when he realized that he had gone too far—passed his office some thirty steps ago.

He furrowed his brow, turning on his heel to go back. That wasn't like him…Mentally, he kicked himself for being so uncharacteristically unfocused.

It was a certain image that had been on his mind: Pickles, straddling him on his bed, looking down at him with lust. His hand had been working on the manager, his lips slightly parted as he watched Charles.

He remembered the drummer's eyes clearly, even now, even after the ridiculous amount of alcohol he had consumed that night. They had been heavy-lidded, from drinking and desire, but more importantly…they had been alert. Aware.

Pickles had known _exactly_ what he'd been doing and did it willingly—seemingly enjoying it.

_Don't let your imagination run wild,_ he though cynically, _I shouldn't-_

Before his thought could be finished, he felt a pair of smaller, yet strong hands grabbing the front of his suit. He saw a blur of red, heard the opening of a nearby storage closet door and was thrown in. Hard.

His back hit the far wall in the small closet roughly and Pickles closed the door, locking it, almost immediately in Charles' face. There was barely any light and the manager's eyes hadn't adjusted, so he felt quite blind.

He could smell alcohol on Pickles, but the way he spoke made him think that he wasn't drunk.

"Awright, Charlie," his voice was low and ragged, "Ahm sick of this. Sick a you avoiding me."

Charles just blinked, as Pickles still had him by the jacket. His eyes began to focus and he could make out Pickles' infuriated face. His green eyes were passionately filled with anger, his pierced brow scrunched. The older man didn't know what to make of this...he'd figured that the drummer had wanted to talk, and it's true that he felt very much like a coward for avoiding the subject, but he couldn't have imagined that it bothered Pickles so greatly.

"Pickles," Charles finally whispered, trying to regain his cool. He straightened his glasses. "I'm not sure what to tell you. What do you want?"

Pickles pulled him closer, their faces centimeters apart. "I want the truth. Did ya jes' use me the other night?"

Ofdensen's eyes went wide and he could hardly hide his surprise.

"Use you?!"

Suddenly he realized: Pickles wasn't angry about what had happened because it was unprofessional, or because it made him "a fag", or because it confused him…he was bitter because he'd felt thrown away. How ironic.

"Pickles," Charles began, feeling frantic now to explain himself, "My intention was never to use you simply for sexual thrills. I was afraid that after a day or two of thinking back on what we did, you'd have me fired! Or worse…never want to see me again."

Pickles wasn't ready for that explanation. He let go of the manager's jacket and took a step back.

"What?" he snapped, not really wanting him to repeat it, but just confused.

"I like you," Charles breathed. Pickles wasn't used to hearing him so desperate. "I always have. The other night…was like a fantasy, it was more than I could've asked for. But you were drunk…we both were and I figured it…it was just a mistake."

It took a moment for Pickles to soak that in. But once he did, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Charles' neck, pulling him into a startlingly passionate kiss. He was grateful that Ofdensen had provided him with a little more security.

Charles more than happily kissed back. He hadn't realized how much he had missed the younger man's lips, his touch…his smell… It suddenly went from passionate to just plain heated, a new static in the air. Pickles reached up and took Ofdensen's wrists, pinning them to the wall.

He smiled against the manager's lips.

"I never even that about how fun this closet could be…"

Charles couldn't suppress a shiver at Pickles' words.

"So ya like me, huh Charlie?"

Charles nodded, his breathing uneven, feeling quite vulnerable in this position.

"Yes, as I've told you before…"

"Well…" Pickles released one of Ofdensen's wrists in order run his hand down the older man's body, right to his cock. He rubbed him softly through his pants. "Don't go runnin' away from me agin, okee?"

Charles' soft moan made the drummer chuckle. He liked having this effect on him.

"O-Okay…" Charles acquiesced, "H-However I…rather like it when you come and find me…"

Pickles unzipped Ofdensen's pants, reaching inside, through his underwear to feel the bare flesh. He remembered that the other night, Charles had gone down on him. He thought it only fair now to return the favor. Plus he was a bit curious…he'd never sucked a guy off before and now seemed a better time than ever to try.

He pulled the older man's cock out of his pants and sank to his knees. He looked up at Charles and laughed lightheartedly when he saw his eyes go wide.

"Relax, Ahm nat gonna hurt ya."

"Pickles…" Charles began, but then decided not to protest. If this was what he really wanted…who was he to say no?

Pickles turned his attention back to the manager's aching erection, experimentally flicking his tongue across the head. Charles let his head fall back against the wall with a groan and Pickles licked his lips, thinking that he had to be doing something right.

He took the head in his mouth, careful to hide his teeth, and swirled his tongue around it while his hand pumped Ofdensen at the base. He felt himself get hard, giddy at the pleasure he was giving Charles, and he took more of the man into his mouth, quite eagerly.

It was Pickles' inexperience with the act that made Ofdensen moan; the way Pickles tried different movements with his tongue, different strokes with his hand in order to give a good blowjob. Charles affectionately tangled his hands in Pickles' tidy dreads, tugging to encourage him.

It seemed to go on for hours, though only about ten minutes, as the redhead began to bob faster and Charles felt like he was going to explode. He tapped the younger man's shoulder with a warning, his breaths terse and uneven.

But Pickles didn't pull away and this made Charles cum faster. With a long moan, he released and the drummer tried to swallow it all, but failed after a big gulp. He pulled away, gasping for breath, wiping his mouth. He found an unused Klokateer hood on the closet floor and cleaned Charles up, as well as himself.

That hadn't been disgusting, or even remotely uncomfortable…

_That was hot_…Pickles thought, rising to his feet. He mentally pushed away the questions that this statement arose.

Charles looked like he was about ready to fall over. Pickles laughed and held him up, pulling him into an embrace. Being a bit shorter than Ofdensen, he laid his head on the manager's shoulder, closing his eyes.

The older man smiled at this affection, finally opening his eyes.

"You…were quite good at that."

"Heh, thanks. I'd…never done 'at before."

"We should probably-"

"Yeah, get outta this closet—I know."

Charles bit his lip, not wanting to seem like he actually _desired_ to leave.

"You could…come back with me to my room. And stay…"

Pickles smiled and nodded against the manager.

"Yeah, that sounds nice."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Where the fuck _was_ everybody?

Aside from Murderface, it had become near impossible for Nathan to find his other band mates at night. It was only eleven. Who the fuck went to bed at _eleven_?

He was walking down the various hallways of Mordhaus, bored as hell, annoyed that Pickles and Skwisgaar—both his writing buddies—were missing. He was going off to find at least one of them, tie them to a chair and fucking force them to write _something_.

It wasn't that he was necessarily stoked about starting the new album. But he had felt frustrated recently; he couldn't quite place it and writing songs had always helped him cope with feelings that he normally couldn't understand.

_Three months_, his conscience told him. _FUCK, I know, ok?!_

It had been three months since he'd gotten laid. Not that there hadn't been opportunities; he was surrounded with slutty and willing fans almost every day. He could make a booty call any time he wanted.

But lately he just…hadn't. He couldn't bring himself to. He couldn't find the inspiration. He couldn't find the will.

He couldn't…get it up.

It was just plain embarrassing the first time. It had hurt the girl's feelings when she'd worked on him for nearly half an hour without any response; but the second time it didn't happen…Nathan just stormed away in a flurry of frustration and hatred.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He was coming up on Skwisgaar's door, his brow already crinkled in anger. Nathan liked to be alone, but only for a little while; after too long he would start to make himself angry with his thoughts and needed external stimulation, in whatever form. Skwisgaar was usually good about just drabbling on and on about music, Sweden or girls and it kept Nathan distracted enough.

He heard the Swede moan lowly in his room. Great. He wasn't alone.

The door was slightly cracked and Nathan crept up on it. If _he_ wasn't going to get any action, then neither was his lead guitarist. Not tonight anyway.

But just before his hand touched the door to throw it open, he heard another moan…one that was higher pitched. That same voice whispered a phrase in a different language and then giggled.

He knew that childish, girlish laugh. That was Toki.

His eyes went wide and without a sound he managed to push the door open a bit more. There, on Skwisgaar's bed, atop his fur comforter, were two, entangled, Scandinavian bodies. Now they were kissing heatedly, with Skwisgaar hovering over Toki, his blonde hair to one side to reveal both of their faces to the lead singer.

They were oblivious of Nathan's eyes on them and Skwisgaar began to kiss down the younger man's body, heading south. Toki watched him with eager surprise, his hands twisted in blonde hair.

As Skwisgaar reached his destination and took Toki into his experienced mouth, the Norwegian threw his head back in what could've been a high squeal, had he not muffled it with his own hand. Nathan swallowed hard as he watched Toki's face, a look of pure ecstasy crossing it.

What the hell was he doing here?!

Nathan quickly retreated back into the hallway, his eyes wide, not understanding why his breathing was suddenly so staggered.

Toki and Skwisgaar…Murderface had been right. They _were_ fags.

Fuck.


	4. Chapter 4

Weeks went by and Nathan began to grow more and more aggravated at the not-so-common behavior of his band mates. Pickles almost always turned in early nowadays; he would disappear around ten o'clock and hardly ever emerge for breakfast. His upbeat mood was another cause for the lead singer's grief and the album was being, yet again, put off. They couldn't write a fucking metal album with all this happy energy in the air at Mordhaus.

Toki was even more annoying than usual to Nathan, always interrupting him and Skwisgaar's conversations over the most trivial of things: all of which demanded the Swede's total attention…which he now constantly gave Toki. The rhythm guitarist, who was very flippant to begin with, was now spacing out completely during practice, seemingly off in a different dimension, always with a tiny smile on his face.

Skwisgaar was the worst for Nathan. His once close partying buddy refused to go out anymore. The arrogant, promiscuous guitarist had almost _never_ refused a chance to go to a club or bar, get wasted and scam on odd-looking chicks.

Nathan could remember a few times when Skwisgaar had been horrendously drunk, throwing his long, lanky arm around the singer's broad shoulders.

"Yous and me…we ams….brothers, ja?" he'd slurred.

"Uh, sure," Nathan would always retort.

Skwisgaar always seemed happy with that response and smiled lazily. "Ja, I loves you."

It had happened more than once…hell, with as much as they drank, it happened pretty damn often. At first, Nathan just ignored the declaration, chalking it up to the alcohol, along with Skwisgaar's obviously oversized sex drive and different, more sexually open culture.

But as Skwisgaar began to get more detailed about how he felt about Nathan, he began to feel…odd about it.

"Nathans," Skwisgaar had once whispered, nearly passed out on the singer's shoulder in a bar in Sweden. Skwisgaar always seemed to let loose, even more than usual, in his country of origin.

Nathan, being pretty gone himself, hadn't protested to the blonde's closeness.

"…yeah?" he'd grunted.

"Yous saves me."

This had confused Nathan, and he particularly remembered feeling slightly sobered by it.

"What?"

"Ja…you saves me. I was goings to kills myself…before yous came to Sweden and asks me to be in de band. Yous…I's alives and beings happy because of yous…thanks you…" And with that, he completely passed out, never to mention the instance again. And of course, neither did Nathan.

Oddly enough, this was the first memory that had popped into Nathan's head when he saw Toki and Skwisgaar in that compromising position in the Swede's room a few weeks ago…but why?

He couldn't…and didn't want…to even begin to comprehend that.

It made him even angrier that he even cared that Skwisgaar now stayed home every night and blew off Nathan's requests to go drinking. Nathan now spent his nights with Murderface, playing Xbox 360, or watching various, gory movies.

They were now indulging in _Saw III_.

"I can't believe we never got around to watching thisch shchit! It'sch scho bloody!" Murderface was leaning back on the couch, his arms crossed in his usual skeptical manner.

"Yeah," Nathan mumbled, mimicking Murderface's stance on the opposite end of the couch in the living room.

"OH SHCHIT, that dude'sch dead. Hey, where'sch Picklesch? He needsch to schee thisch."

Nathan shrugged.

Murderface shook his head, sighing in a pitying kind of way. "Poor kid. Schtill hung up on Schkwischgaar."

Nathan clenched his fists, "Hmph. Pickles is like…eight years older than you."

"SCHO?! He'sch schtill a kid!"

Nathan became surlier with each passing second; the fact that Skwisgaar's absence was putting him in a sour mood was making it worse. Why was it festering like this?

"Who cares? You shouldn't. We're not supposed to care, dick."

At that, Murderface sulked, sliding down the couch a bit more, muttering something about "being a hypocrite". At least he shut up.

After the movie, Murderface was snoring loudly. Only _he _could fall asleep to a movie like _Saw_. Nathan took out the Blu-Ray disc and looked down at his reflection in the smooth surface. It was time to retreat to his room, to drink alone, try to write, or fuck around on the internet. Great.

_Jesus, how fucking gay…STOP caring._

But as he stared at himself some more, his mind drifted to Skwisgaar and Toki, probably in bed together, tangled in each other's arms. And where the fuck was Pickles? Drinking? Maybe he'd gotten into hardcore drugs again. There was nothing Nathan could do about that. NO intervening. The one rule about being in Dethklok.

_No intervening_…

…

Well…maybe a _little_ intervening would be all right…

He smiled. A genuine, slightly-psychotic, Nathan-ish grin. Perfect.

It was now Friday night. The boys had had a string of press releases during the day, in which they were ordered by Charles to explain the absence of a new album. The manager was getting frustrated; not at the lack of incoming funds, but he just hated stagnation. Plus, he'd been getting way too many threats from fans that swore they would commit suicide if new songs weren't released. How idiotic. That would mean that they wouldn't be around to actually _buy_ the new album when it actually _was_ released…which in turn, meant less money for Dethklok.

Although he, himself, had his fair share of distractions from work. He had Pickles all to himself, every night. His insecurities had slipped away, though one question remained on his mind...

He had promised that night to go out with the boys for a few drinks, and everyone seemed on board. As Charles was straightening his collared shirt in the mirror in his room, Pickles snaked his arms around the older man. He smiled and kissed his neck, resting his chin on the manager's shoulder, looking him over.

"Ya sure are handsome, Charlie."

Charles smiled genuinely. Then he cleared his throat. "Um, Pickles…"

"Yee-uh?"

"You know that I don't…necessarily care to discuss either of our sexual pasts. But…well, something has been on my mind lately. Something that Murderface once mentioned."

Pickles' stomach twisted a bit. He thought he knew where this was going.

"Is this…about Skwisgaar?"

"How did you know?" Charles blinked, his eyes slightly wide.

"Heh, I…overheard that…_particular_ conversation. I'd been on my way ta talk to ya, but you were talkin' to the other guys, so…I eavesdropped." He shrugged.

Charles turned to face Pickles. He wasn't sure to make of Pickles' continuously casual tone. He looked into his green eyes, searching. "So…it's true? You a-and…Skwisgaar…?"

"Now hold on there, chief," Pickles stopped him, putting his finger to the manager's lips. "Skwisgaar and I fooled around a couple 'a times. I never had feelings for the guy. That dude's an animal when he's drunk, heh. But yeah, Murderface caught him givin' me a handjob once. That's all. We were totally high."

"And you..never…made love?" His voice quivered a bit, which he momentarily hated himself for.

"Never." Not that he and Charles had ever really _had sex_…but it obviously meant something to the guy. Ofdensen was, after all, the only man Pickles had really considered it with.

The color came back to Ofdensen's face as he smiled. He nodded once.

"That's all I need to know."

Pickles smiled gradually, just looking at Charles for a moment. He blinked slowly, taking in a soft breath.

"Ya know…I could…get used ta this."

"…yeah?' Charles was still smiling as he pulled Pickles close by the waist.

"…yeah."

They shared an understanding kiss that was full of promises and commitment and it was at this moment that they both knew: this had gone _way_ beyond simply fooling around. Charles pulled away just enough to put his forehead to the drummer's.

In one breathy sigh, he uttered, "…I love you…"

And Pickles nodded, reaching around to twist his fingers in the short hairs at the base of Charles' neck.

"I know…I love you, too, Charlie."

No more than an hour later, they found themselves in a dark, abnormally high-class bar on the north side of town. Completely surrounded by Klokateer guards, of course, they filled an entire large, round booth, on the second story that overlooked the dance floor below.

Pickles was ordering Charles shot after shot of Tequila, laughing hysterically at the expression on his face after his third. Murderface was watching in amazement, congratulating the manager for his stamina…which may not have been so well deserved, as he was feeling pretty sloppy already. Skwisgaar had his arm around the back of the booth where Toki sat, leaning back casually, surveying the crowd.

Toki was careful not to seem too paranoid at Skwisgaar's wandering eyes. He could feel Nathan's piercing gaze on him occasionally, but never actually caught the singer looking at him. He knew that Skwisgaar wanted to be discrete about their recent excursions, (relationship, in Toki's mind), and didn't want to upset his new lover.

"Please, Toki," Skwisgaar had asked, while helping Toki dress in his room before they came out, "don'ts be yellings at me for anyt'ings tonight, ok?" His voice had been soft. "If I talks to de ladies, is just to keeps up my reputaktions, ja? Okays." And he'd kissed him.

Toki smiled at the memory of that gentle, but passionate kiss. He felt so safe in Skwisgaar's arms and despite the Swede's record, he trusted him completely. It was hard not to—the past few weeks had been heaven and Toki couldn't have asked for more.

Pickles nudged Nathan.

"Nathan, LOOK! HA! Charlie's gettin' totally smashed!"

"Yeah!" Murderface chimed in, "He'sch downed four schotsch!"

Charles waved his hand dismissively, but ended up hitting Pickles in the face, making the redhead burst into laughter, which realistically sounded more like a giggle fit.

"Oh!" Charles reached out, taking Pickles' face in his hands. "Sssorry!"

Pickles pointed, still laughing. "Yer totally slurrin', Charlie."

If Nathan hadn't been so distracted, he might have asked Pickles why he had such an affectionate tone to his voice, or why he even had a nickname for the manager. Or why "Charlie's" hands were still on the drummer's face, stroking his cheeks slowly—drunkenly—but still lovingly…

But he was determined to force Skwisgaar back into his normal mood: back into the amoral, sex-crazed Swede that he was. The Skwisgaar that Nathan _knew_. That he missed…

"I'll be right back," Nathan muttered, getting up from the booth and disappearing to the dance floor below.

"Is…Nathans…goings to dance?" Toki asked, confused.

"Hm?" Skwisgaar seemed really distracted, tugging on Murderface's hair, his arm around the back of his part of the booth, as well.

"Hey! Schtop!" He batted his hands at Skwisgaar's and the guitarist chuckled, loving to annoy the bassist. Mainly because it was just so damn easy.

"Moida-face, are yous usings a new kinds of condik-tioners?" he asked in a mocking tone, "Cuz yous such a pretty ladys, ah? Cuz yous…yous likes to smell likes de flowers, aaahhh?"

"Schut UP, Schkwischgaar, Gooooooddd…" William put his face in his hands in a melodramatic way.

"Skwis!" Toki tugged on the older guitarist's sleeve. Skwisgaar had actually chosen to wear a long-sleeved black shirt tonight. Toki suddenly felt distracted at how the cotton fabric clung to the blonde's slender biceps perfectly…

"Whats, Toki?"

But as Skwisgaar turned around, his eyes darted to the stairs, where he saw Nathan returning…with a group of about ten to twelve gorgeous, and a few plus-sized, women.

Nathan flashed a small smile at the guitarist's facial reaction, as the Swede's eyes got wider. Toki followed Skwisgaar's eyes and frowned noticeably.

"Hey, uh," Nathan muttered, standing at the end of the booth, "these girls wanted to…you know…meet us and shit."

"WELL, ladiesch, of COURSCHE you can meet usch!" Murderface piped, jumping up.

Nathan probably would've noticed the fact that Pickles was completely ignoring the women and focusing on helping Charles undo his tie…had he not been so enveloped in encouraging a few of the more eager Skwisgaar fans to go talk to him.

One of the girls, a very curvy and starkly beautiful one, courageously took a seat on one of Skwisgaar's knees, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Hey you," she purred, "I'm Krista."

Nathan watched Toki carefully.

"Hellos, Krista," Skwisgaar replied, as she offered him a shot. He nodded and she poured it down his throat, smiling.

Nearly eight shots later, Skwisgaar was slack, his English getting worse and his sex drive getting harder to ignore. He couldn't even _see_ Toki, as almost all the girls Nathan had brought to him were surrounding him completely. They each wanted a chance at his lips, and for every minute that he slipped in and out of consciousness he was making out with someone new.

Finally, Toki had had enough. He jumped up, his eyes brimming with tears, his face red.

"DATS IT!! STOPS IT, GETS OFF OF HIM!!"

Everyone, all of the girls and even a very drunk Charles, turned to look at Toki. Nathan eyed Skwisgaar to see his reaction.

Toki clenched his teeth and looked at Skwisgaar, speaking in a low voice. "I can'ts….just watch…"

"Aww," one of the girls stalked to Toki, wrapping her arms around his neck in a misguided gesture to include him, "are you jealous, honey? Want us to pay attention to you, too?" She brushed some hair from his eyes.

But Toki quickly wiggled out of her embrace, his eyes still intent on Skwisgaar's state.

"Skwisgaar, please…"

Skwisgaar slightly sobered up at Toki's outburst, though the room was still spinning. He looked up at Toki through blurry eyes, his brow furrowed. Why was he so upset? He was just kissing…

But before Skwisgaar could atone for anything, everyone's attention was turned elsewhere…

"HOLY SCHIT!" Murderface pointed at the corner of the booth—where Pickles now sat atop Charles, making out with him passionately and drunkenly, apparently unaware of everyone else in the entire club, his hands shoved up the manager's now mostly unbuttoned shirt. Nathan _definitely_ didn't miss this.

"Wow…gay."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The tension in the air at lunch the next day, (no one had been awake for breakfast), was more obvious than Murderface's lisp. Pickles sat at the very end of the table by himself, an odd look of forced neutrality on his face. Murderface kept trying to glance at him without being caught, occasionally catching his eyes and darting his own eyes back to his food.

Toki poked at his sandwich sullenly, sulking at the absence of Skwisgaar at the table. After last night, the Swede had stayed out. Toki had heard him come home around four in the morning and crept out to talk to him. But Skwisgaar's door had been shut and locked, with no answer to his soft knocks.

Nathan seemed a bit more talkative than usual, which was the private result from the night before…from Skwisgaar's obvious conflict with Toki's attachment. Since when had he become so sadistic…? He tried not to think about it very hard. Which was instinctual anyway.

"Are we gonna do that show Ofdensen told us about a while ago or what?" Nathan asked, looking around.

He got no response.

"Guys…..GUYS…..Guuuuuuyyyyys…." his rough voice was hard to tune out and Pickles decided to chime in, since it was a safe subject.

"Sure, I dunno, uh…what was it? I think I missed that…that conversation," the drummer lied.

"Itsch the Grammy'sch. Fuckin' bullschit muschic awardsch," Murderface muttered, crossing his arms, not daring to look at Pickles.

Dethklok always seemed to win an award; they were always up for something, even if they hadn't put out an album that year. They had a collection of Grammy awards in their trophy room, a few of which they had painted black in order to stick it to the whole idea of winning stupid dildo awards.

"I guess we should, ya know, do it," Pickles sighed, "I mean…c'mon, we haven't done a show in…a month? Is 'at right? A month?"

"When isch it, anyway?" Murderface looked to Nathan.

"Next week," a familiar, slightly robotic voice answered from the end of the table.

There Charles stood, looking as put together as ever, only with slightly more noticeable bags under his eyes from the excessive drinking.

Everyone fell silent. Charles sighed.

"Listen, can we just…be professional about this? Please allow me the privilege of keeping my work and personal lives separate and…I'll do you the same courtesy."

Pickles looked up at him, trying to catch his eyes; but Ofdensen seemed to refuse to look at him. It frustrated the drummer to no end, but he knew that this would be difficult. It had to come out some time.

But for all the other guys knew, it had been an odd, drunken make out session that each of the men regretted partaking in. So it confused Nathan as to why Charles was asking to keep his two lives separate. Was Pickles…a part of both lives?

"Now hold on," William began, not making quite as astute a mental observation as Nathan had, "you're schaying that you made out with Picklesch…and we're juscht schupposched to _forget_ about it? It'sch okay, man, don't be scho aschamed."

Charles removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose as Murderface continued.

"I mean, we all get lonely schomtimesch. And you _were_ shchitfached."

…_he must be joking_, Charles thought.

"Picklesch scheemsch to juscht make out with EVERYBODY when he'sch drunk. You, Schkwischgaar, Doctor Rock-scho-"

"I NEVER MADE OUT WITH DAT CLOWN, YOU FUCKIN' MORON!" Pickles exploded, standing up

"Oh, wasch…wasch that a dream?" He seemed honestly perplexed enough. "Hm…why the hell am I dreaming about…about _that_, I mean-"

Pickles sighed noisily, frustrated.

"Look- Charlie 'n I are GAY to-ge-ther," looking at Murderface, particularly spelling it out for him. Then he looked at Nathan for his reaction. He was surprised to see a smile tugging at the lead singer's lips. Toki finally looked up, his eyes wide, shocked that Pickles was being so outright about it.

Charles didn't look happy.

"Pickles, may I…speak with you a moment?"

The manager walked into the other room and Pickles followed, hearing soft voices behind him as he left. He didn't bother to try and hear what they were saying about him. Probably shit about how being a fag isn't brutal. He didn't care.

"What's wrang, Charlie?" Pickles asked, when finally alone with him in the living room.

"Wh-..what's _wrong_? What's WRONG, Pickles?!" He couldn't help but feel flustered. Normally, he conveyed anger with a cold voice and dangerous look, but his emotions always seemed to be out of whack around the drummer.

"You just outed me to my co-workers without my permission!"

"Stap callin' us yer co-workers, it's annoying." Pickles looked almost just as angry, or at least as annoyed, as Charles did.

"Well, like it or not, that's what you _are_. My original concern about our relationship was its interference with my work life. Do you _comprehend_ that if one of them thinks it even a little bit strange to have me around now that I will be _fired_?" His tone was vicious.

Pickles clenched his fists at his side, staring back into the manager's eyes with the same fury. God, why did Charlie have to be so fucking hot when he let loose like this?

"Yer nat gonna get fired!" Pickles hissed, "_I _won't let you! But Ahm sick 'a sneakin' around. Last night felt good, kissin' you in public and not feelin' ashamed about it!"

Pickles may have been smashed, but even now he remembered the thrill of that kiss. He had felt his audience's eyes on him, but all he cared about was Charles' tongue and the way he tasted…like Tequila and that same, sweet taste that Ofdensen always had.

This made Charles falter a bit. He clenched his jaw, but fell silent. It, too, had felt exhilarating to him; it'd been _so_ long since he'd been in a relationship and even longer since he'd been open about one.

But that didn't excuse Pickles' behavior.

"Listen," his voice was softer as he began to relax, and he moved closer to Pickles, looking down, "I just…can't afford to lose this job…or to lose you." He looked up at the younger man above the brim of his glasses. "Please, let me keep both."

Charles looked damn sexy like that, but his pleading eyes kept naughty thoughts from entering the drummer's mind. So instead he placed both of his hands on Charles' shoulders, nodding.

"Yee-uh…Ahm sorry, Charlie, I…I shouldn't have done that. I just…"he moved his hands back further, now wrapping his arms around the manager's neck in a familiar stance. "I'm not ashamed of us."

This made Charles smile.

"I'm not either…but…let's be gentle, okay? I doubt the other boys are going to be as keen on us as we are, hmm?"

Pickles chuckled.

"Yer right…yer always right. Smart little fucker."

He kissed the older man briefly and sighed. It was time to face the fire.

Pickles and Charles re-entered the dining room with the same blank look on their faces, as if they'd both just returned from a boring church service. Pickles sat back down at the table while the other guys watched both of them expectantly. Charles took his usual spot, standing at the head of the table. He raised an eyebrow at Nathan, who looked like he wanted to speak.

"Uh," he began awkwardly, "so…you guys are like…gay now?"

Charles looked at Pickles, who nodded to him, then back at Nathan.

"Yes, Nathan. Yes we are."

"Oh. So…you're like, a couple?"

The manager nodded.

"Oh. Hmph."

It was Toki's snickering that made everyone look up.

"I knews it! Oh, congratumalations guys!"

Toki winked forcefully at Pickles, who chuckled. He appreciated Toki's overdramatic acceptance, knowing that he was trying to help his friend out. Even Murderface broke a smile at Toki, who was now trying to give Charles a big bear hug, and succeeding as the manager couldn't even try to pull away.

"Well," Murderface sighed, looking at Pickles haughtily, "It'sch not really metal…but if it makesch ya happy, then whatever."

Pickles smiled genuinely at William and gave him a nod. As Toki was near crushing his now disconcerted and disheveled manager, Nathan looked at Pickles.

"So you're not…gonna fuck girls anymore?"

Why was this so hard to understand? Pickles shrugged.

"Uh, not now, I guess, heh."

"Oh. Hm."

Pickles frowned, wondering what Nathan was really feeling…but knowing that he wouldn't find out until the singer felt comfortable talking about it. And that could take a while.

Just before Toki snapped Ofdensen in half, a Klokateer appeared at the doorway.

"My Lords, I was told to give this to you at 1 P.M."

He handed Charles the letter, who, after gasping for breath and regaining his composure, opened the letter and furrowed his brow. He read aloud and it was all too evident who had written it.

"Dear Dildos, I haves am going home to Sweden to be taking vacation there now. I ams return upon when I feel likes it. Do not call."

Skwisgaar's written English had always left much to be desired. But it was clear why the singer had fled.

Toki widened his eyes, fighting back tears.

_He left because of me…_


	5. Chapter 5

Skwisgaar's letter had discouraged them all; Nathan seemed uncharacteristically worried, while Murderface became very quiet. Charles was busy fretting over his and Dethklok's future if Skwisgaar refused to return and Pickles was on the same wavelength. Toki was inconsolable.

That night, Pickles stole Charles away from his work, begging him softly to "tuck him into bed". He pulled the manager into his room, in which they rarely ever slept. Pickles' room was, for the lack of a better term, quite messy.

Many empty alcohol bottles littered the floor and there were empty CD cases and studio equipment randomly strewn about his bed. Charles reasonably tended to prefer his own living quarters; not only because of his want for control and familiarity, but because it just plain bothered him and he felt like cleaning up before taking the drummer to bed.

Pickles nearly giggled at the older man's slightly horrified expression.

"Relax, Charlie, once the lights are off ya won't even notice the mess."

Pickles cleared a path to the bed and slipped his own shirt over his head lazily, tossing it wherever he pleased. Charles shut the door carefully behind them, trying to fight the urge to organize. He loosened his tie.

"How is Toki?"

He asked out of true concern for the Norwegian, but he secretly wondered whether leaving the young guitarist alone was a good idea. He didn't want another band member slipping out of the country without him knowing it. The fact that Skwisgaar had succeeded in such an act was unsettling for the controlling manager.

Pickles shrugged.

"I dunno…nat so great. How would _you_ be if I jes' up 'n left without any warnin'?"

"Good point."

The redhead smiled softly and walked casually over to Charles, pushing him back softly against the closed door He reached behind him and locked it, looking into his lover's eyes, just before flipping the light switch. His own eyes held purpose and Charles wondered what he was up to.

"I want you, Charlie…"

Ofdensen's breath caught in his throat momentarily. He picked up on the innuendo in Pickles' tone and realized where this was heading.

"I see…" was all he managed.

Pickles pulled the older man into a passionate kiss, raising his left leg slightly to wrap it around Charles' calf. He wrapped his arms around the manager's neck; he realized that he was in a very feminine position…and secretly hoped that this would give Charles the right idea. The idea he wanted to convey.

Ofdensen more than happily kissed back, but remained a bit tentative. He ran his hands slowly up Pickles' bare and hairless chest; whether the drummer waxed, shaved or just had very little body hair, the manager wasn't sure, but he certainly didn't mind. It was sexy.

With more strength than Pickles knew that he had, Charles swept the drummer up, carrying him like a bride to the bed. Pickles chuckled slightly, but didn't break their kiss. He laid the younger man on the bed gingerly and hovered over him, looking into his eyes.

"Pickles…"

The drummer smiled.

"You know…you can call me by my real name if ya want…"

He bit his lip sexily, his eyes heavy lidded and his voice thick with lust.

Charles smiled. "Very well then, Shawn."

Pickles moaned softly as the manager attacked his neck, kissing, biting and leaving his mark. His real name was so very intimate to him and Charles felt more than special at being able to speak it. He was fairly certain that the other guys didn't even know what it was. But he wouldn't let this minor distraction keep him from voicing his doubts about his lover's request.

"Are you sure about this? We have all the time in the world, I don't mind waiting."

In truth, he'd wanted to make love to Pickles that first night and probably would have if the drummer would've suggested it. He hadn't expected a few things; first, he was surprised to find how ready the drummer was, and secondly, he didn't think that Pickles would so willingly accept the submissive position. If that was even what he was doing.

"Ahm tired of waitin'," Pickles confessed, "And I want you…I…Ah've been watching some videos an' it's…it's turnin' me on."

Charles raised his eyebrows, looking down at the redhead.

"Videos?"

Pickles was glad it was dark, because his ginger skin was flushing considerably.

"Yee-uh…you know…pornos. I bought 'em online. Ta be honest, I didn't really know…ya know…how it was done. But now I do."

_How *it* was done…_Charles thought, smiling. He'd never heard Pickles sound so innocent about something and it was honestly hot as hell.

"Hmm, well…if you're ready, then so am I."

It wasn't hard for the manager to rid them both of all their clothes; he had a talent for undressing another man. They lay on the bed, entangled in each other, kissing and sucking and moaning for quite some time. Charles was honestly surprised at how little resistance Pickles put up to the older man's obvious want for dominance.

The redhead seemed to enjoy being a bit passive and he certainly knew that Charlie liked to be in control. It didn't bother him; Pickles was one of the most easy-going guys Ofdensen had ever met, and that characteristic extended to sex.

Charles kissed down Pickles' body slowly, wanting to work him well and in all the right places. He wanted this experience to be good so that the drummer would want to do this again. He didn't want to think of the pain that the younger man would probably experience in a few short moments.

Enthusiastically, he gave Pickles amazing head; swirling his tongue around the drummer's cock, stroking where he was most sensitive and moaning noisily, as if it was the greatest thing he'd ever experienced. It wasn't like Charles to be so audible, but he'd realized that it turned Pickles on significantly. The hornier Pickles was, the easier actual intercourse might be…

"O-Oh shit Charlie…"

Pickles reaches down, twisting his fingers in the manager's hair, arching his back as he involuntarily thrusted upward.

"S-Slow d-down…p-ple-…oh!!"

Charles smiled softly, pulling away to lick up the younger man's length. He wasn't going to stop his onslaught until Pickles was all too close to orgasm. And he thought he'd take the opportunity to loosen the drummer up a bit…

He took a moment to slide one of his own fingers in his mouth before probing at the drummer's ass experimentally, watching his face. Pickles didn't even gasp, or hesitate, but he did moan loudly. He was more ready for this than Ofdensen had ever dreamed.

With resistance, Charles pushed one finger slowly into the younger man's opening.

"FUCK, Charlie!"

Pickles shut his eyes tightly, throwing his head back on his pillow, his legs spread wide in a stance of complete submission and vulnerability.

Charles felt his own erection twitch. It was _throbbing_, but he wouldn't stop to call attention to it. This was just getting too good. If there was one thing the manager got off on it was a good power trip: and this was more than he could've ever asked for.

Slowly he began to move his surrounded finger in and out of the drummer. It felt weird and definitely uncomfortable at first. But after a minute or two, Pickles felt his muscles relax. And as Ofdensen reached up to continue to stroke his lover's cock, he started to feel pleasure again.

"M-More…" he stammered, his eyes still closed.

"As you wish," Charles purred.

"Wait!" Pickled moved to prop himself up on his elbows. "I almost fergot! In the top drawer in that dresser over there…I…bought that fer us. Heh."

Charles removed himself from Pickles reluctantly and walked over to the mentioned dresser. He opened the drawer, looking confused.

"Uh, ya have ta dig a bit," he confessed, "I didn't want any 'a the guys findin' it, just in case. Ha! Nat that it matters now…though they might've wanted ta steal it."

After a bit of searching, Charles found a long white tube. It was fancy, too, and the warming kind. Perfect.

Charles returned, smiling.

"This should make things much easier…"

Pickles lay back, preparing himself for the discomfort, but willing himself to continue in this venture.

Charles rubbed Pickles' thighs affectionately before opening the lube and applying a generous amount to his index and middle fingers. He put his left hand on the drummer's knee, steadying himself as his right hand moved back to its intruding spot.

He slipped in one finger quite easily now and upon the redhead's original request, he pushed in a second.

"A-Aahh…" Pickles gasped, looking down at the manager, his brow furrowed in a mix of discomfort and wanting. But as he saw Charles' lustful expression, his hand buried in his ass, his cock twitched and he licked his lips, practically growling.

"Faster…"

Charles nodded and began moving his fingers in and out of the drummer, more quickly than before, but at a steady pace. Pickles writhed and moaned: and then suddenly cried out as a certain spot was hit by the manager's longer finger.

"O-OH!!"

His eyes shot open and his muscles tensed.

"Ch-Charlie, oh GAWD, yes! Ohhhh fuck me, fuck meee..."

Charles bit his lip and removed his fingers unwillingly, but with purpose. His own cock was feeling neglected and he could barely contain himself any longer.

"Pickles, please…" His eyes were so full of need that Pickles immediately nodded, his breathing staggered.

"Y-Yes…"

Charles leaned down, kissing him passionately and position himself between the drummer's legs.

"This…may be uncomfortable at first, but…stay relaxed, okay?"

Pickles nodded. He trusted the older man, with everything he had, physical and emotional. He wanted nothing more than to feel ultimate closeness with him; he also thought it only fair, as he'd made the man wait quite a while. Two months was pretty damn long in his book.

Charles slicked his own cock with lube, suppressing a moan at the actual touch to his forgotten erection. He kissed the drummer again and then moved his lips to his ear.

"Lift your legs a bit more…yes, just like that. Now…"

Pickles felt the head of Charles' cock at his opening. He swallowed hard and pulled the older man a bit closer in an encouraging way. Very slowly, Charles pushed his way into Pickles, shivering at the tightness. With only a few inches in, Pickles tensed up, digging his nails into the manager's back.

"O-Oh SHIT, OW!" He gasped, feeling like he may hyperventilate. It burned. Jesus, it burned bad.

"R-Relax," Charles managed to breathe, though he was fighting back his more animalistic urge to thrust. He began moving slowly, in and out, but only going halfway in at the most for now. He wasn't huge, by any standards, but generally any cock was much bigger than two fingers. And Pickles was _tight_.

The drummer tried to even his breathing, letting his head fall back, his teeth clenched so hard that he felt they might break off in his mouth. But after a few minutes of Charles' gentle thrusting and extremely pleasured expression, Pickles felt his body relax…until he felt his lover hit that spot again.

"O-Ohhh yeeeaahh…." He moaned and his body began to move in time with Charles' thrusts. It wasn't long before the manager was pushing all of his length into Pickles, who took it regretfully at first, but eventually gave into the pleasure.

The pleasure, the pain…it seemed to all be the same sensation, driving the younger man crazy. He'd never experienced anything like it before. Well, except one thing: sometimes playing heavy metal was like that, at least on drums. He got a high from playing the double-bassed tracks and heavy beats, even though his muscles would scream at him halfway through a show to stop. And yet he would continue, taking the pain in with the thrill and achieving an almost higher level of consciousness because of it.

He wrapped his legs tighter around the older man, his eyes fluttering shut. Charles moved rhythmically, trying to maintain himself until he was certain that Pickles was feeling nothing but pleasure.

"You f-feel…amazing, Sh-Shawn…"

Pickles shuddered at his name and felt his stomach muscles clench as his blood burned hot and he neared his climax. He wasn't sure, at first, if he could even get off the first time, but the experience was all around him, intoxicating. He lived, breathed, smelled, tasted and felt nothing but Charlie. The man was _inside_ of him, a part of him and there was absolutely no turning back now. Not ever.

"I-I'll never leave you…" Pickles blurted out. He couldn't hold back anything he was feeling or thinking; it was as if being connected in this way kept anything inside of him from being private.

Charles smiled into the crook of Pickles' neck just before gasping and gripping the drummer. He released his hot seed into Pickles, who in turn cried out at the sensation and came, as well. They laid, a tangled and sticky mess, for a few moments, each man catching his breath. Charles pulled out of Pickles slowly and collapsed beside him, pulling him close.

Pickles couldn't even open his eyes. He was glad, however, that the older man decided to hold him so soon. He still felt quite vulnerable and it was a bit unsettling; but it felt better in the warm and sweaty arms of his lover.

"Th-thank you…" was all the redhead could think to say. He felt silly for saying it.

Charles smiled.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too," Pickles breathed. "Incredible…"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Charles regrettably had to return to work early the next morning. He left a sleeping Pickles in his bed just after kissing his forehead affectionately and leaving him a tiny note, telling him to meet him for lunch.

Pickles awoke, a bit disappointed at the absence of Charles, but after reading his note he felt a bit giddy. He couldn't believe that last night was real…even though it was hard to forget, with how sore he was.

He showered and grabbed a quick breakfast alone before setting out to find Toki. He hadn't forgotten about his friend and was truly worried about him. He approached the Norwegian's closed door and knocked softly. To no response, he tried the knob—it wasn't locked.

He opened the door softly to find Toki, asleep, on his bed. He was still dressed, Deddy Bear halfway across the room on the floor. There was an empty Kleenex box on the bed at his feet and many crumpled up tissues on the floor. Something told Pickles that he hadn't been using them to masturbate.

Pickles sighed, shutting the door behind him. He sat at the end of Toki's bed and shook his foot softly.

"Hey, kid…" he whispered, then shook him harder.

Toki started and looked down at Pickles. His eyes were still rimmed in red and slightly swollen.

"Pickle?"

He sat up, his long hair slightly tangled, but still soft looking. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock. It was almost noon.

"Yee-uh, dude," Pickles patted the younger man's leg. "Ya really need ta get up. It's almost noon!"

Toki was usually the first one up. But from the looks of it, he'd cried himself into a deep sleep at a very late hour.

"I don'ts…really feels like gedding ups. I's still tireds, just leaves me alone."

He turned to lie back down, but Pickles got up and took Toki by the shoulders, looking into his eyes.

"Dude, don't do this…c'man, he'll come back…"

That seemed to press a button in Toki and the young man turned to Pickles, a desperation in his eyes that startled the drummer.

"NO HE WON'TS!" he cried out, tears filling his eyes again, "He doesn'ts wants to comes back…as longs as I ams here. He hates me…"

"Hates you? Toki, there's no way…" Pickles shook his head. "He just gat scared, that's all. Ya lost it at the club and ya know, he prably jes'…freaked out. We all do that when we get into a relationship."

Toki considered this for a moment, staring at the floor and willing the tears away from his eyes. He looked up at Pickles sadly.

"You…reallys thinks so?"

Pickled looked at him firmly, nodding.

"Toki, Skwisgaar has…the biggest sexual appetite Ah've ever _seen_. Bein' surrounded by a bunch 'a hat girls isn't easy fer any of us. Well…" he kinda laughed, "anyway, he's only human. It might take a while fer him ta change his ways. But he did a lot for you. Changed a lot, already."

Toki's eyes brightened. He actually started to smile.

"You…t'inks he…really does loves me?"

"Uh, sure," Pickles felt a bit uncomfortable now. He didn't exactly know how the two men's relationship had worked. But he did know that Skwisgaar had affections for Toki that went beyond mere "boy toy" infatuation.

Toki leapt up, making Pickles jump.

"Dens wes has to goes to Sweden!"

Pickles' jaw dropped.

"What?!"

"Ja! Wes has to go gets him! Brings him homes!" He turned to Pickles desperately. "Please, Pickle…please? Can'ts you tells Ofdenzens to takes us der?"

All of the band members knew, very well, how hard it was to tell Toki "no". Despite how brutal they all thought they were, there was a bit of an unspoken soft spot for the Norwegian in all of them. And Pickles couldn't imagine what it would be like if he were in Toki's shoes, and Charles had just run away.

He sighed heavily.

"Ah'll…ask him. But no promises, okay?"

"OH PICKLE! T'anks you!!"

He started to pull the redhead into a hug; but after seeing the way he had "hugged" Charles yesterday, he thought it best to step away. But he did smile.

"Ah'll be back, kid."

He left a beaming Toki, who was already starting to pack, and headed for Charles' office. The manager was all too ready to take them to Sweden, wanting, just as much as Toki did it seemed, for Skwisgaar to return home. Though, of course, he had different motives. He _wouldn't_ let this band fall apart. And he wasn't going to let problems between Toki and the Swede screw things up.

"I told you office relationships complicate things," he'd muttered, half joking, but kissing Pickles with a smile all the same.

And so a few hours later, they found themselves on their private jet. Murderface was buried in a magazine; he seemed to be avoiding contact with the others, needing time to adjust to all the "fagginess" that seemed to be going around. Pickles didn't push it; he wanted things back to normal more than anything else. He knew that like Nathan, it would take time.

But Nathan seemed different. He wasn't necessarily more distant than usual, or angry…but he seemed frustrated, as if he was working on a math puzzle he just couldn't quite solve. He kept looking at Pickles as if he wanted to ask a million questions, but always chose a huffy silence instead.

Pickles just waited, thinking that when he was comfortable, Nathan would approach him. It was Toki, however, who Nathan approached. He sat by Toki in the comfy seats, far away from the others. Toki had been sitting at the back of the jet, staring out into the cloud in a daze.

"Uh, Toki?" Nathan muttered.

It took Toki a second, but he finally realized that his name had been spoken. He turned to look at Nathan, surprised at how close the singer was sitting in relation to him.

"Nathans? Ja?"

Nathan looked into Toki's wide, expectant eyes and swallowed hard. He knew what he wanted say…what seed he wanted to plant. It would be all too easy…

"I saw you and Skwisgaar one night…I saw him, uh…you know, doin' stuff to you."

Toki didn't look ashamed. He just blinked.

"Oh," he kept his voice low, but still unabashed, "I didn'ts…know dats we have the doors open."

"Yeah, well…I opened it a little. By accident." _Fuck_. He hadn't meant to admit that.

"…oh. Whys?"

Nathan suddenly grew angry. Sometimes anger was something that just surfaced within him, from so many repressed emotions and experiences. His want to seem placid and uncaring created an emotional ulcer in him and the acid from it filtered up to his brain from time to time, poisoning him.

"I dunno, I was looking for Skwisgaar. To go out."

Toki didn't notice Nathan's clenched fists.

"Ohs! Sorry, Nathans. I guess he was busies." Toki smiled, as if this was funny and everything was cool with the singer.

"Yeah, I guess so…I mean, I figured he was with a girl, since, you know, he's never alone. I didn't expect it to…be you."

Nathan kept his eyes at the seat in front of him, not daring to look Toki in the eyes anymore. He was going to go through with his plan, but looking at Toki made it harder.

"Ohs, yeah…hm."

"Toki, you know…this whole you and Skwisgaar thing…it could end up ruining the band. I mean…we all know what's going to happen."

Toki looked at Nathan owlishly, his eyes wide and unreadable.

"Whats do yous mean? What ams goings to be happenings?"

"We can't have him just flying off to Sweden every time you guys fight over him making out with girls. He's never going to stop…ever since I've known him he's had sex almost every night with tons of chicks."

Toki fell silent as he listened to Nathan. He looked out the window again.

"You wanting him to yourself…to be your…boyfriend, or what the fuck ever…it's _never_ going to happen. And you thinking so is just…going to fuck everything up."

Toki had never heard Nathan speak so many words in one sitting, let alone to him.

_Nathan cares about me…_Toki thought, in Norwegian of course, _He doesn't want me to get hurt._

"Nathans, Skwisgaar...would nevers hurts me. Don'ts worry about Toki."

Now Nathan looked at Toki. It was hard to tell if that was what Nathan's truly concerned face looked like.

"Wouldn't he? He already has. Skwisgaar doesn't _care_, Toki. All he wants is sex. So unless you plan on sharing him with all the fucking sluts and groupies he takes to bed, then…I'd end it. Before you ruin Dethklok."

He got up and made his way back to his original seat—at the front of the jet, near Murderface. Toki was left to contemplate Nathan's warning; whether Nathan was concerned about Toki, or just the band, the guitarist didn't know.

Toki felt a lump rise in his throat. What would Skwisgaar say when he saw Toki? Would it really be in everyone's best interest if he just let Skwisgaar go?

_But I love him…_

They arrived in Sweden the next day after an eight hour flight into a time zone that was about six hours ahead of the U.S. It was in the evening, and they were all feeling major jet lag. Charles booked them a nearby hotel, each member a different room of course; with the exception of Charles and Pickles. The manager suggested that they hold off on their search for Skwisgaar until the next day and Toki just nodded, having been awfully quiet since the plane ride.

Toki ordered them all room service for dinner, being able to speak Swedish quite well, since it was a sister language of his own native tongue. They all ate separately, apart from Charles and Pickles. After the meal, the drummer smiled as he pulled a familiar white tube from his suitcase, which led to another intense night.

The morning after, everyone showered and dressed and met in the lobby.

"So," Pickles asked, looking particularly at Toki, "where do ya think he is?"

But it was Nathan who spoke up.

"I know he still owns the flat he had when I first met him here. Probably there."

Pickles nodded, eyeing Toki, who was staring at the floor.

"Okee…maybe…Toki should go alone. Do you gat directions, Nathan?"

Nathan didn't seem particularly happy about this, but he said where he thought it might be and Charles wrote it down word for word on a piece of paper for Toki. The manager also gave the guitarist money for a cab, made sure he had his cell phone and then sent him on his way.

Toki called a cab and got in, sputtering out the directions to the driver and then sat back in the seat, taking in a deep breath.

_Please want to see me…_he begged in his mind.


	6. Chapter 6

The driver was starting to get annoyed. The directions had turned out to be pretty vague and Toki had no idea how to help navigate around Stockholm. Even in Norway, he had lived in a very tiny village and rarely visited the city; and the other guys drove him around in America. His own sense of direction was less than honed.

But after finally mentioning Skwisgaar Skwigelf, the driver immediately knew where Toki was headed. The guy hadn't recognized Toki, but just about everyone in Sweden knew about their proud contribution to the world of music—the blonde guitarist. It was a private, gated building that contained four stories of expensive lofts. He dropped Toki off in front of the impressive, but ominous complex, speeding off.

Toki craned his neck to stare up at the building. How Skwisgaar had afforded to live _here _before he even joined Dethklok was puzzling; perhaps the place had been accommodated and fixed up to meet the Swede's tastes. That was more likely. It was more than intimidating, with its white, pristine stone walls and architecturally complex columns, and Toki didn't even know how he would get through the gates to even try to find Skwisgaar.

After about ten minutes of waiting, a car pulled up to enter the gate. Toki ran up to the vintage Audi desperately, hoping that maybe the driver would recognize him and allow him in.

"Heys!" he said loudly, tapping on the glass of their window. He decided to try Swedish, not risking his confusing English. "Kanna du hjälpa mig få insida? Jag nöd till se Skwisgaar!"

A very haughty blonde woman rolled down her window. She sniffed and spoke in the same velvety tone that Skwisgaar did.

"No, I can't help you get inside for to see him. He's never here, now go away, filthy Dutch."

_Dutch?! Toki?! And…why the hell was her English so much better than Skwisgaar's?_

She rolled her window up, and the gate opened for her after her passenger entered a code into the clearance pad near the brick wall at the edge of the steel gate. Toki thought, for a moment, that he might dart in, until he saw the guards standing by the building. Damn, this place was like a fortress. He guessed that with how much Skwisgaar was probably paying for it, (especially with never being there), that it had to be.

Feeling quite defeated, Toki slowly turned his back on Skwisgaar's Swedish home, trudging up the sidewalk to the inner city. Perhaps when he got back he would beg Charles to work his magic and get him clearance to the building; but he wasn't sure that would work. Skwisgaar seemed very highly protected here.

After passing many restaurants, food markets and dress shops, Toki found a bar called "Stor Dricka" and decided that a drink sounded better than anything right about now. He had some leftover cash from the cab ride, miraculously, and wanted to blow it. He was returning empty-handed anyway, so he might as well empty his pockets, as well.

As soon as he opened the door, he was bombarded with bodies. This wasn't like Sweden—there was a considerably low population density, compared to the States, and it was usually quite easy to maneuver without running into anyone.

_Wowee, this place must be popular_…

Toki squeezed his way through to the bar before he was spotted. He heard his name several times and a few screams. A group of Swedish girls came running up to him, Sharpies in hand. How had they known to come prepared?

"Ooo, it's Toki Wartooth!" one of them squealed in near perfect English, knowing that it was the language she could communicate with him the best in, "We didn't know that you AND Skwisgaar would be cominks here today!" It seemed that Skwisgaar's lack of good English skills was probably just a result of laziness, haughtiness, or perhaps the neglect of his mother's educational attention.

Toki widened his eyes.

"S-…Skwisgaar?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Please- won'ts you sign my shirt?!"

Toki looked around quickly. He signed all four of the girls' shirts, let them take pictures and sent them on their way. He tried hard never to ignore fans, and he was probably the only member of Dethklok who actually cared about them.

But he was quite distracted. Skwisgaar was here…he had to find him. All he had to do was follow all the eyes…follow the lines and swarms of people. He easily pushed his way through the crowd, being much stronger than most people considered him to be. He received some pissed off grunts, threats and retaliated pushes until they realized who he was, then backed off completely.

He heard a familiar, bumbling, low voice yelling Swedish at the surrounding fans as he tried to sit alone at a wooden table. Toki caught words like "alone" and "fuck" and "annoying fish". He must be very drunk, or just extremely pissed off.

Or both.

Toki finally spotted the blonde, surrounded by nearly a dozen empty beer mugs on the messy tabletop and a half empty one in his hand. His fans were either staring at him, ignoring his threats, or shoving pens in front of him to sign various items/body parts. Skwisgaar practically growled at his admirers, looking like quite the mess. His face looked even more sallow than normal, the dark circles underneath his eyes more prominent. Saying Skwisgaar looked pale would seem quite the obvious observation, but he looked _pale_. The alcohol hadn't even seemed to flush him at all. He looked like a fucking zombie.

"Toki!"

Toki hadn't realized at first that the Swede's head had snapped in his direction. The younger man jumped and looked sheepish for a moment until he saw that look on Skwisgaar's face: a look of complete and utter relief. The blonde furrowed his brow sadly and seemed to exhale continuously, his concave chest sinking in slightly with his apparent reprieve at seeing the Norwegian.

Toki felt warm all over to be looked at in such a way. Perhaps it was the alcohol affecting Skwisgaar's inhibitions, but he didn't care. He waltzed over to the older guitarist protectively and helped heave him up from his chair. He whispered to him.

"Comes on, I takes you home…" and then more loudly, "Yous is sick, Skwisgaar, don'ts go runnings offs to a bar!"

He thought that if the people around them thought that something was wrong with Skwisgaar, then they'd be a bit more forgiving about his sudden exit. And he was right; on their way out, he heard many women asking if he was okay, their voices dripping with concern for their favorite celebrity.

"Mys…cars is…overs der," Skwisgaar offered, slurring slightly, once they were outside. He pointed in a pretty vague direction, but Toki eventually found the shiniest, newest car in the street and assumed correctly.

He removed the keys from Skwisgaar's right pocket and helped him into the passenger seat, before climbing into the driver's seat himself.

"Uh, Skwis, I's…goings to call Ofdenzens…cuz I can'ts be driving. Don'ts gots my license! Don'ts…even knows how, really…"

With the way Skwisgaar was looking at him, Toki was glad the windows were heavily tinted. It was a lustful look, Toki could tell, and inebriation always did that to the Swede. He dialed Charles' number, explaining their situation and where they were before hanging up and shoving his spiky phone back into his pocket uncomfortably.

"Toki…" Skwisgaar began, placing his hand on the Norwegian's thigh. His voice was uncharacteristically shaky. And then he did something that Toki would have _never_ expected. He began to cry. He put his forehead to Toki's shoulder and his entire, lanky body shook with sobs. Toki instinctually threw his arms around the blonde, putting his chin on top of Skwisgaar's head, letting his brown hair fall around the older man's face to comfort and shield him.

Skwisgaar continued to weep, and a strain of quick and incoherent Swedish slipped from his lips. Toki couldn't decipher, but he decided to leave it alone for now and let the man release his emotions. Toki even felt himself tear up a bit, really shaken by Skwisgaar's breakdown. He had never seen him so vulnerable, but perhaps it was a mixture of alcohol and isolation with Toki. He probably never would've dared to cry in front of the other guys.

"Skwis-" Toki began, but the Swede cut him off, still holding onto him desperately.

"Nos, Toki," he sobbed, "I nots mean to runs aways from you…I thoughts maybe I's would feel betters if I's just leaves to clears mys head…" He coughed, choking slightly on his tears. "I's nots gay…"

"I knows, Skwisgaar," but inside, Toki's stomach was twisting. He wasn't sure where this was going.

"Buts…yous. _Yous_…" he shook his head, "Is likes…its…don'ts matters to me. I just…feels so bads- what is de words?...Mees-rabbles…"

"Miserables?"

"Ja," he nodded, sniffling, "miserables…widdout you. Feelinks so strongs about you…its scare me. Prettys badly. I-...I can'ts even plays de dildo guitars anymore…I plays its bad, likes you do ats shows, because I can'ts thinks about nuddink buts you…ands our sex…and yous face…"

Toki let the tiresome offense slide for now. He rubbed Skwisgaar's back softly and put his face to the guitarist's hair, kissing his head while his own mind ran a mile a minute.

"Skwisgaar…" Toki bit his lip, thinking back to Nathan's warning on the plane. He didn't want to be the source of Skwisgaar's misery, even if it was the result of an affair he'd wanted for so many years. "Maybe wes…just bes friends….?"

But Toki didn't sound convincing. Skwisgaar was starting to sober up at all the unexpected emotion and he lifted his head to look into Toki's eyes, his face centimeters away from the other guitarist's. His darker blue eyes were searching and Toki felt completely exposed; it was pretty obvious, from the beginning, what Toki had wanted—all of Skwisgaar, in every way.

"Whats if I's promise nots to sleeps wid udder ladies?"

"I not a lady, Skwisgaar!" Toki said huffily, pulling back slightly.

This made Skwisgaar smile, reminding him of simpler times. But the smile faded and desperation crept into his expression.

"I knows…buts..I mean….I onlys sleeps wid you? I comes home…every nights…to yous."

Not only did Toki question if this was possible, but he realized how restrictive it was and he didn't want to be resented. It was amazing how deeply Toki could think when dealing with his relationship with the Swede. It was just about the only thing he was capable of thinking intuitively about, really.

"Skwisgaar, I-…I's nots so sure…"

"You don'ts trusts me," Skwisgaar whispered. It wasn't a question, and he hadn't intended it to be.

Toki kept quiet and looked away, at the dashboard, looking for any visual distraction.

"Wes…wes goings to ruins da bands, Skwisgaar."

Skwisgaar looked pretty taken aback by that. His desperation melted into confusion.

"Wha…? Toki, de bands is…I's nots quittinks Dethklok."

Toki looked up at him, his eyes sad.

"Yous…yous promise? Dat no matters how stupids I ams being dats…dats you nots quit? Nathans would be real mads at me if yous lefts again."

Skwisgaar wasn't sure what Nathan had to do with it all, but he nodded.

"Ofs course, Toki, I's promise. I's won'ts leaves again, nots ever."

Toki nodded once. "Goods."

Skwisgaar continued to look at him anxiously, needing some closure and perhaps some forgiveness. Toki looked back, his expression wary; but eventually he sighed, giving in.

"We tries it, okay? Just…if yous wants to sleeps wid somebodies else, wid a lady or somet'ing…" he shook his head, "don'ts tells me about it."

Skwisgaar _did_ want to try monogamy, but he wasn't sure he'd be too great at it; so he was grateful when Toki left this loophole in their relationship…for now, anyway.

"Ands I promise nots to get jealous," Toki added. _At least to your face._

Skwisgaar nodded readily. "Ja, Toki…dats sounds reasons-nables."

He smiled and leaned in, rewarding Toki with a slightly sloppy, but meaningful kiss. Toki shifted to pull himself closer to Skwisgaar, having missed his touch and his slightly flowery scent. He put his hands delicately on the Swede's defined cheeks, kissing him with passion. All felt right in the world again and, as he'd imagined that it would, Toki's fears and doubts melted away. It was hard to feel worried about anything whilst having the tongue of the world's fastest guitarist in your mouth.

Toki crawled on top of Skwisgaar and reached beside them to pull the lever that let the seat fall back, pushing Skwisgaar into a lying position. The Swede smiled; this was by far his favorite arrangement, with the younger man straddling him, and his own hands on Toki's hips. Toki continued to kiss Skwisgaar heatedly, his hair falling around their connected faces. Skwisgaar kneaded the muscles in Toki's thighs, feeling a familiar wave of lust flow through his body.

The blonde had a healthy flush when Toki finally pulled away, and Toki could feel a bulge underneath the older man's pants. He smiled.

"Jeg lik du som dette," Toki whispered in Norwegian, running his fingers down the blonde's chest.

Skwisgaar smiled, laughing slightly. "Speaks in Enkglish, Toki…my brains can'ts translates whiles you are…sittinks on tops of me like dis…" He let out a feral growl, rubbing the younger man's thighs harder.

Toki giggled. "I likes you like dis…watchings me…likes you wants me."

Skwisgaar licked his lips.

"I dos wants you…"

Toki leaned down to kiss Skwisgaar's neck, nibbling on the sensitive skin softly. The blonde moaned lowly, letting a Swedish expletive escape his lips. Toki knew where the older man wanted him to go, and he went there happily; trailing kisses down the older man's body until he was on his knees on the floorboard of the passenger side, undoing Skwisgaar's skull-buckled belt.

"Ja…" Skwisgaar encouraged, stroking Toki's hair, looking down at him, his eyes clouded with want.

Toki unzipped Skwisgaar's pants and removed his large erection from them, taking it into his hands. Toki had originally been very intimidated by Skwisgaar's impressive size, but after much practice he'd figured out how to work the Swede's cock in all the right places to make the guitarist moan and squirm, which he enjoyed watching. He had yet to attempt deep throating it , fearing that he may choke, or worse vomit, and didn't need the extra embarrassment.

He squeezed the Swede's length with both hands before flicking his tongue out across the head, receiving a long groan from the man.

"Toki, nngg….Ja, please…"

Skwisgaar was more than verbal during sex, but Toki didn't mind; it just reminded him that he was doing a good job. The things that came out of the blonde's mouth as he was pleasured would range from flattering, to comical, to just plain dirty. Toki never knew what to expect.

He took more of Skwisgaar's now rock hard cock into his mouth, sucking expertly, while twisting at the base. He would pull away slightly every now and then to lick down to the guitarist's balls for extra stimulation; this always made Skwisgaar crazy. It was an act that would have over-stimulated Toki, not having had much experience outside of Skwisgaar, but the Swede seemed to enjoy it.

"O-OH, mm, Ja, Toki, yous is…uhhh….Du er perfekt……..A-ahhh, right der, yes…."

Skwisgaar stroked Toki's head affectionately, randomly tightening his fists and tugging at his hair, or loosening his grasp when surprised by something that Toki's mouth would do. Toki pulled away in order to slick the Swede's cock with the pre-cum that was spilling out from the tip. He stole some of it with his index finger and tugged the blonde's pants down to his knees. Skwisgaar simply flashed a wicked smile at him, not protesting.

Toki continued to suck on Skwisgaar while his lubed up finger wandered and moved to Skwisgaar's opening. He slid the finger inside of the older man, pushing it in as far as it would go. He liked to be _in_ Skwisgaar; plus he knew that the man secretly loved to feel dominated and fucked every now and again.

"TOKI-!!" A stream of Swedish came tumbling from his mouth, but it was slightly incoherent to Toki's ears, though he did catch "fucking beautiful" and "go further" from it.

Toki slipped in another finger and thrust further inside of Skwisgaar, continuing his onslaught on the blonde's cock with his tongue. To anyone else, this may have been too much; but to the experienced and ever-sexually-hungry Skwisgaar Skwigelf, it was heaven.

He wriggled and writhed in the seat, his hips bucking up to Toki's mouth and against his fingers.

"Ah, fucks, Toki!! ….Mmm, deeper, ja, djupare…please!…UHHHH, don'ts…don'ts STOP!"

Toki didn't plan to stop. He was getting almost as much pleasure from this as Skwisgaar was—well, not quite as much, but he was certainly enjoying himself. Skwisgaar was completely dependent on Toki's every move and after the past few days of constant insecurity, it felt good to be in control.

After a few more moments of thrusting and sucking, Skwisgaar's body curled and tensed and he exploded into Toki's mouth with a loud sound that was a mix between a moan and a scream. Toki willingly and gratefully swallowed it all—he'd gotten good at that.

He looked up at Skwisgaar and smiled, removing his fingers from the man. The Swede looked absolutely _beautiful_: laying back, defeated, against the seat, his eyes closed and chest heaving, a few strands of hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. Toki reached up to remove that hair and then crawled on top of him to kiss him.

Skwisgaar kissed him back slowly, wrapping his arms around the smaller man. Toki whined slightly, rubbing his erection against Skwisgaar. The blonde smiled, his voice silky.

"I thinks I takes cares of _you_ now…"

He reached down and unbuttoned Toki's pants, reaching in eagerly to take the Norwegian's smaller, but nicely sized cock into his expert hands. He wrapped his long fingers around it and stroked up and down slowly, applying a good amount of pressure. He knew Toki well: the younger guitarist needed a slow build-up, mainly because the sensations were still comparatively new to him and quite overwhelming.

"Oh! S-Skwisgaar!"

Toki fell forward slightly, his forehead on the blonde's shoulder, his hair cascading forward down the Swede's back. Skwisgaar momentarily reached down to his own cock, slicking his hand with his own cum, and returned to Toki's length, lubed.

He nibbled on Toki's ear lovingly as he stroked him, knowing that it was the emotion behind it all that Toki really got off on. Toki would've never thought that Skwisgaar was capable of being so considerate in bed, but he'd never found him to be otherwise, surprisingly enough. Toki moaned softly, his breath hitching in his throat in a higher-pitched cry.

"Uhhnn….." he exhaled unevenly, wrapping one arm around Skwisgaar's neck to keep hold of him while he thrusted into his hand, "p-please….l-loves me…"

Skwisgaar wasn't sure how he'd meant the request, but he took it as a want for reassurance, so the Swede acquiesced.

"I loves yous, Toki…you ams sos beautiful…"

Toki felt stupid for having tears in his eyes and, even more, felt glad that his face was hidden from Skwisgaar's. But he smiled into the blonde's shoulder, just before his body jerked unexpectedly and he came into his lover's hand, a flittering of whispered Norwegian fleeing from his lips.

He sat there for a few moments, shaking slightly from the aftermath of his orgasm, just wishing to be close with Skwisgaar. The Swede said nothing, but wrapped his arms around Toki and closed his eyes. Ofdensen would probably be here soon…though, like Toki, he'd probably taken about fifty detours to find them. It'd most likely take him another hour to get to them.

Or so he hoped. And he was right.

Charles arrived, along with Pickles, in order to take them back to the hotel, fairly late and was full of apologies. The two guitarists dismissed them, saying that it was unnecessary to be sorry. They stopped by Skwisgaar's place so that he could collect anything he had brought with him. The Swede slipped in, grabbed his things, and quickly slipped out without offering to show any of them his loft. Probably because it was empty.

And so they arrived back at the hotel, to a visibly relieved Nathan and Murderface. Nothing was really discussed, but Nathan could see the extra bounce in Toki's step and he knew…he knew that so far, his plan to keep the two guitarists apart had not worked. Toki just wasn't going to give Skwisgaar up. He was close to exploding, but forced the anger into his chest, choosing a sullen silence in lieu of it. Murderface, pretty emotionally exhausted from all the commotion and recent dramatic activity, pleaded with the others for their return to Mordhaus. Everyone else was all too ready and agreed.

The band arrived home around in the evening, technically that same day, around eight o'clock. Charles disappeared to his office while the guys ate in silence. No one was going to discuss Skwisgaar's temporary absence, and it became as if it'd never happened. A week went by and Nathan's mood worsened; mainly because Skwisgaar reverted back to his annoying new habits of staying in.

Finally, one Friday afternoon, the singer had had enough. While Charles headed a rather uninteresting band meeting, Nathan cleared his throat to interrupt him.

"Yes, Nathan?" Charles inquired, sounding quite bored, as no one was really listening to him other than Pickles, who was really just making suggestive motions with his hands.

"I have something to fucking say."

He stood up, fists clenched, his eyes dark.

"Being gay _isn't_ metal. So anyone who is….shouldn 't be in a fucking _metal_ band."

He didn't look at anyone in particular, not wanting to give away the fact that it was really just Skwisgaar's relationship with Toki that was bothering him. But Pickles seemed to take the offense pretty hard and immediately shot up.

"_What_, Nathan?! You gat a prablem?!"

He looked like he was ready to pounce the singer, but Charles put a hand on the drummer's arm softly, still watching Nathan. Charles had his theories pertaining to the singers' behavior, but wasn't willing to disclose them to the entire band. Skwisgaar and Toki exchanged looks, but the Swede was the only one to speak up.

"Pfft," he casually leaned back in his chair, "Nots a problem. I's nots gay."

Toki kinda shrugged, and then nodded.

"S'true. He's reallys not. Just me and Pickle, I's guess." He furrowed his brow. "Waits, so wes has to go? I don't wants to leave Dethklok!"

He started to get visibly upset now and Skwisgaar put an arm on the Norwegian's shoulder.

"No ones is goinks anywhere." Skwisgaar shot Nathan a dark look through narrowed eyes. "Whats is dis about? I thoughts everythinks was okay!"

Nathan definitely wasn't going to argue with Skwisgaar right here and now, in front of everyone else. He felt like he wanted to break the blonde in half—if he killed him, then Skwisgaar'd finally have a better excuse for not hanging out with him anymore.

The singer just shook his head and stormed out huffily. Murderface, who'd kept quiet through the entire spat, finally spoke up.

"Geezch, I thought I wasch the only one who thought bein' a fag waschn't metal."

And before he knew what was coming—before Charles could call security to step in, or before Toki could restrain him—Murderface was hit _hard_, right in the face by Skwisgaar. William fell to the floor, holding his now bleeding face, his eyes shut tight, screaming.

"WHAT THE HELL, SCHKWISCHGAAR?! AHH JESCHUSCH, FUCK!"

Skwisgaar's eyes practically burned red with his fury. Toki had now pulled Skwisgaar back, but Pickles just widened his eyes and stayed on his side of the table. There was no fucking way he was getting in the middle of this…though he did feel vindicated and couldn't escape a small smile on his own lips. Skwisgaar's English got pretty terrible when he was angry and flustered.

"YOU DON'TS TALKS LIKE DAT IS-, WHEN-, YOU…AMS DON'TS KNOW ANYTHINK!"

Skwisgaar stalked off to find Nathan. He was going to make him pay, too. He was sick of all of this bullshit, having to worry about how others felt about he and Toki's relationship. He thought they weren't supposed to give a shit about each other's lives! Why the hell was Nathan so concerned with it?! Sure, being gay may not be metal, but it was certainly fucking better than the life he'd had before…he'd come to realize this.

No one dared to follow him, figuring that it was best he work it out with Nathan alone. The singer wouldn't' go down so easily, as William had, and of course they all expected a fight. Skwisgaar found Nathan's room, his door shut. Not caring whether it was locked or not, he kicked it with his strong, booted foot and it collapsed into the room.

Nathan was standing by his window, his arms crossed. But when he saw Skwisgaar, all of his rage seemed to boil over and show on his face, and the Swede's matched expression fueled the fire. They met each other in the middle of the room, each ready to eat each other's faces.

"Yous are a fuckinks baby!"

Skwisgaar went right for Nathan's thick throat, wrapping his longer fingers around it and squeezing, in an attempt to choke him.

"And you're a fucking FAGGOT!"

Nathan did the same and for what seemed like hours, they attacked each other, each trying to choke the other. Skwisgaar's efforts were futile, but after a minute or two he felt himself start to weaken as his air supply was cut off. Nathan choked him all the way down to the floor, until the blonde kicked and writhed, and then finally let go.

Skwisgaar choked and gasp, his hands going to his own throat tenderly. Nathan frowned and stood up again.

"Skwisgaar, I-…"

But before he could finish, Skwisgaar managed a swift kick to Nathan's balls and the singer went down hard, yelling obscenities. So for a good five minutes, both men lay on the floor, recuperating and randomly shooting each other death stares until they were both well enough to speak again.

"Fuck," Nathan whispered, as he finally sat up, rubbing his balls, "that was brutal."

"Ja," Skwisgaar agreed, pulling himself into a sitting position, as well, "wells yous deservededs it. Whats de hell has gottens into you? Whys do yous cares so much about mes and Toki?"

Nathan sighed and stared down at the carpet. He wasn't at a loss for words; he could think of a million things to say. But only one came out.

"You're just…not yourself anymore. You know…" he shrugged, feeling uncomfortable at being forced to talk about his emotions, "you never want to go out anymore."

Skwisgaar looked confused, staring at Nathan in disbelief. It took him several moments to realize…Nathan was _jealous_. He hadn't even noticed; Nathan missed all the attention that Skwisgaar used to give him. It's true that they had once been two of a kind. And it was also true that, on the rare occasion, Skwisgaar had professed his undying loyalty to the singer—while inebriated, of course, but that didn't void the sentiment.

Skwisgaar felt himself flush slight and he looked away, equally embarrassed now.

And so there they sat, for ten minutes. Silent. Two stubborn and emotionally handicapped men, unable to speak to each other. Finally, to ease the tension, Skwisgaar spoke up.

"You knows…dis bands would be nothinks widdouds me. You can'ts kicks out de gays."

Nathan almost laughed.

"Yeah…I know."

Skwisgaar flashed him a smile and nudged him softly in the side.

"Looks…maybes we…go outs tonight, ah? Toki and I's…you know, wes aren'ts…exclusives, really. I coulds still scams on de chicks wid you."

Nathan raised his eyebrows and looked up at him in surprise.

"Really, you're…allowed?" That felt weird to say.

But Skwisgaar nodded, "Ja. I justs can'ts talks to hims about it."

Nathan smiled, a bit devilishly. He wasn't sure, exactly, why he felt so giddy at that fact. Maybe it just seemed that Skwisgaar had recognized his fault and planned to still indulge Nathan in his companionship at bars; but maybe it was something deeper, to know that Skwisgaar was still "technically" available….he didn't want to think about that.

"Cool. Fuck it, let's go."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After helping Murderface with his broken nose, Charles retreated to his bedroom. Pickles had slipped away and he couldn't find him, so he decided to wait it out and hope that the drummer came to him eventually.

But as he opened the door, he felt confused; it was completely dark. He _always_ left his desk lamp on and was sure he'd done so this afternoon. He flipped the light switch and almost laughed. On the bed, on top of his ruby red comforter, was a black, silk box, about the size of his hand. It was wrapped in an intricate, silver bow, with a note on the top of it.

He walked to the bed and picked up the note.

_You thought you could slip your birthday by me, huh? _ It read.

Charles smiled, picking up the box and unwrapping it gingerly. He lifted the top and his smile fell into a look of awe. It was a Rolex watch, the rim encrusted with diamonds, the face a plated silver and the strap a shiny, black leather. It was absolutely gorgeous and just the clean, sophisticated style that fit Charles perfectly.

He felt Pickles' thin, but well-toned arms wrap around his waist from behind.

"Ya like it?"

Charles turned around and Pickles took the watch carefully, helping him put it on. He looked up into Charles' eyes.

"It's…Pickles, I-…thank you," he whispered, still slightly breathless. He'd mentioned needing a new watch a month ago, barely calling attention to it. He couldn't believe that Pickles paid attention to what he said that closely.

Pickles chuckled. "It's nat fair that ya know my birthday and I had ta dig like crazy ta find yours. I want ta know more about you…" He put his arms around Charles' neck in his usual pose.

"We have all the time in the world, Pickles. Trust me."

He kissed the drummer softly, sighing. Pickles smiled, slightly pulling away.

"I do, Charlie. I do. Happy Birthday."


End file.
